


The Perfect Gentleman

by Itachis_Husband



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Awkwardness, First Relationship, M/M, POV First Person, Protective Siblings, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9634817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itachis_Husband/pseuds/Itachis_Husband
Summary: Ever since I turned thirteen, my parents have been coaching me for the day I finally meet the perfect woman. At the time, I didn't know what to do with such information. Who knew that, fourteen years later, it would get the opportunity to use it? My only question is: does the same apply to a man?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Secret Sal](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Secret+Sal).



In the majority of cultures around the world, a child is legally considered to be an adult at the age of eighteen though I would go as far as to argue that not every household across the world abides by this statement. For many teenagers, adulthood and independence are interchangeable, and independence is directly related to receiving one's driver's license. To others, adulthood is reached at the age of twenty-one when one can legally gamble, purchase lottery tickets and consume alcohol.

It is my understanding, however, that parents are the deciding authority on such a matter, and in my household, the age of adulthood was thirteen.

"Itachi," my father casually stated over a hot cup of coffee one chilly morning in November, "I think you've reached the age where your body is starting to undergo some changes. And by that I mean you'll start to see hair growing in places where it didn't previously grow, your voice becoming deeper, you'll grow taller and develop more muscle tone, and you'll start to take notice in the girls in your class who are also undergoing changes in their own bodies."

"You're talking about puberty, right?" I answered, uninterested in a lecture concerning something that I had learned about every year since the fourth grade.

My father nodded. "That is correct. And as I was saying, you'll start to take an interest in women. But let me tell you, falling in love is not a game like so many of your peers seem to think of it as. When you fall in love with somebody, you're committing yourself to them, something that someone of your age cannot fully comprehend yet." He said. "But I'm telling you all of this so that when the time comes for you to court the woman who will eventually become your wife, you will treat the matter with appropriate level of seriousness that it deserves."

At the time, I remember searching his features, looking for some indicator as to why something I was apparently incapable of understanding until I was older applied to me now at the age of twelve. At that point in my life, girls and falling in love where nowhere on my radar which largely consisted of reading the most novels in my grade, playing video games in my cousin Shisui's basement, and teasing Sasuke about our various "grown-up kid" escapades.

"I realize that a young lady may catch your interest before you are mature enough to enter into a relationship and I understand that I may not be able to divert it until that day comes. Therefore, I caution you not to fall in love with a woman based on looks alone. When falling in love, you must look for a woman who has morals, values, goals, and ambitions. She must be respectful of her family, her heritage, her culture, and must possess respect for herself as well. I will not approve of one of those indecent sluts who think it's appropriate to wear mini-skirts in the dead of winter. Find a woman as classy as yourself who will be worthy of our family name." He advised me. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, father." I said even though I didn't. I simply said whatever would appease my father for the time being so we could sweep this conversation under the rug and forget that it had ever happened.

I would later learn that such a notion was just a pipe dream as he continued to intertwine these words of wisdom into every conversation he could. "That's my boy. Straight A's as always." He said after glancing down his nose at my report card. "When you fall in love, don't settle for second best. Whoever she is should possess the same intellectual capacity as you do who can provide stimulating conversation. Otherwise, you will end up bored and unhappy."

"Yes, father."

"In addition to that, you must find a woman who is certain of her path in life and has well defined career goals. Graduating from high school at the top of her class and earning a full scholarship to one of the top colleges in the country doesn't mean a thing if she doesn't know what she wants in life." He said. "Indecisiveness is not the mark of an Uchiha woman."

 _Says the man whose wife spends ten minutes at the supermarket debating which flavors of Greek yogurt she wants to try,_ I remember thinking to myself at the time.

"Your father's views are very _traditional_." Said my mother while folding laundry one day. "Yes, it's important that you pursue a young lady who places more value on a college degree and a successful career instead of premarital sex, relationships aren't and shouldn't be one-sided, Itachi. Falling in love isn't solely about finding a woman who satisfies your father's high expectations of the perfect wife for you – it's finding someone who makes your heart race, fills your stomach with butterflies, and causes you how to speak in coherent sentences." She smiled, speaking from experience. My mother was eight and a half months pregnant when she received her college diploma and gave birth to me seven days after her twenty-second birthday. "Conversely, it is important that you evoke the same feelings in her as well."

"Yes mother." I agreed in hopes that she would drop the subject.

"Don't worry. You'll know she's the one when the time is right." She winked.

And from that day on, for the next nine years my father would share with me the characteristics that comprised the perfect woman worthy of our family name while my mother instructed me on how to behave like the perfect gentleman worthy of upholding that very name.


	2. Chapter 2

I used to love whenever it rained. I remember sitting on the back porch of my childhood home with my legs dangling over the edge, kicking the air in an attempt to catch a few raindrops on the tops of my sneakers like one catches snowflakes on their tongue on a winter day. I marveled at the way the grass became so much greener while the pine trees in the horizon seemed to fade away under the shroud of the gloomy skies that loomed above them. But more than anything, I loved how still the world grew. Aside from the occasional car cutting through the rainwater collecting on the road, the only sounds were those of raindrops bouncing off sidewalks, racing through metal gutters, and dripping from already saturated leaves. I could sit outside for hours listening to the orchestra playing all around me as all my troubles and worries got carried away down the metal street grates, all while sitting underneath the overhang of my back porch.

That was long ago.

I was naïve to take comfort in the ominous silence created when the world retreats indoors to seek shelter from the elements. The rhythmic pitter-patter of rainfall that used to elicit a feeling of utter calm now reminds me of the steady ticking of a clock, counting down the minutes until the next traffic accident caused by inclement conditions. Even now I can think of a million other ways I would rather spend my Saturday morning doing instead of hauling my inebriated younger brother across a bar parking lot in the midst of a storm.

"Thanks, Itachi." Sasuke slurs.

I shake my head, hoping to detach my sodden bangs from my face and respond "You can thank me later, for now, try not to trip over your own feet, okay?"

Sasuke groans in response. What should have been a brisk walk lasting about forty seconds at most has transpired over two and a half minutes now.

The headlights of my car light up in the distance when I press the "unlock" button on my key fob. Luckily I had the insight to hold my keys in the palm. Otherwise, I would have to let go of Sasuke in order to fish them out of my pocket and the last thing I want is for him to fall and break a bone in this state. I did not foresee how putting pressure on Sasuke's side in order to press said button would cause him to mewl in discomfort.

"I'm sorry." I reassure him. "We're almost to the car."

Within seconds of reaching the car, Sasuke drops to his knees and begins to vomit onto the pavement. As much as I'd like to retreat into the dry interior of my car, I cannot leave my helpless brother retching in a parking lot full of drinking patrons by himself. But I'd rather not keep him hunched over in this downpour either as it means dealing with a hung-over Sasuke with a case of the flu the next morning.

I unlock the car once more and reach under Sasuke's arm pits. "On three, I'm going to lift you onto your knees so that I can open the passenger side door, okay?" I ask. Sasuke nods. "One, two, three!" I say and right as I lift him, he begins to vomit some more. I wait for a break in his regurgitating to open the door. "On three, I'm going to lift you onto the seat, okay?" He nods. "One, two, three!" And with that, he is sitting on the edge of the seat, his back sheltered from the unrelenting onslaught and lowers his head between his legs. As much as I don't agree with his reckless drinking, I can't help but feel sorry for him in this state. All of my life, I've never cared about anything other than Sasuke's well-being, through the good times and the bad. "I'm going to grab you a bottled water." I tell him and circle the perimeter of the car until I am leaning into the driver's side searching for the bottled water I brought along.

Or should I say – the bottled water I _thought_ that I brought along. If I was thinking logically, I would've put it in the cup holder for ease of access, but then again, who has the ability to think clearly at nearly one in the morning when their sibling calls them from a bar asking to be picked up? In my haste, did I throw it into the passenger side? I couldn't have. Sasuke's sitting in the passenger seat right now and it's not there. Could it have rolled underneath the seat somehow?

"Hey." A man says from behind me.

My first instinct is to turn around so that I can see the man clearly should he try to harm Sasuke or myself. That is, if my vision wasn't distorted by the rain drops dotting the lens of my glasses.

"You're going to catch your death if you stand out here for much longer." He says, walking closer.

To catch one's death means to contract a cold or respiratory infection, by why is my health of this man's concern? I squint, trying to make out his features without taking off my glasses or making any sudden movements. He's tall – taller than I am by at least a foot; that much I can make out. He has dark messy hair that falls in front of his forehead, damp from being outside in the rain and his gaze is one of concern but contains a certain intensity as he too squints to keep the tiny tributaries running down his face from getting into his eyes. I say nothing and watch as he removes his sports jacket and drapes it onto my shoulders. "Here. This will keep you warm."

"Thanks," I utter and shrug the jacket off, "but I don't need it."

"But you're soaked to the bone!"

I force a small smile and hand the garment back to him. "I'm fine. I do this a lot, actually."

"What, standing in the middle of parking lots during major storms? If that's the case, then I'm even more concerned about your sanity." He laughs and accepts the jacket only to drape it around me once more. "Keep it up and you'll catch pneumonia."

As kind as the gesture is, I find it counterintuitive. "Keep it. I'm already drenched; this jacket can't do anything more for me, and there's no point if the both of us are soaked." I tell him and hand the jacket back once more. He is wearing a dark, baseball tee with the buttons at the top undone and the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms.

"But you've been soaked for God knows how long and you're probably cold. My jacket will keep you warm. Take it!" He says to me, draping the jacket around my shoulders once more. "I insist."

It is clear to me that no matter how much I argue with this man, he is going to allow me to wear his jacket, even though doing so has caused this shirt to become saturated and cling to his shoulders and sculpted chest. _Maybe he's an athlete_ , I catch myself wondering.

"C'mon," he says, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, "let's go inside before we ruin our health. Besides, there's nothing like a few shots to warm you right up—"

"I can't." I tell him, and stand my ground.

The man turns and looks at me as if I had just confessed to being wanted by the government. "Why not? Have you had much to drink? If so, I can see why you're standing in the midst of a storm!" He laughs.

I shake my head. "I didn't come here to drink. I came to pick up my intoxicated younger brother." I state, shame coloring my cheeks as I had forgotten that Sasuke was still waiting for me to bring him a bottled water to drink. Right on cue, Sasuke begins to vomit from the other side of the car, alerting the stranger I am talking to that there is another human being in the vicinity. "As you can see, he's not quite ready to make the drive home." I call out over the rain hitting the roof of the car.

"You're a good brother. I can't think of many people off the top of my head who would do that for their sibling." He says as I rub Sasuke's back. "Is this your car?"

"Drink this." I encourage Sasuke and hand him the bottled water before glancing up at the man beside me. "Yeah, why do you ask?"

"I wouldn't recommend driving home in this weather in a car like this." He says, gently patting the trunk of the car.

"I have no choice. I have to take my brother home so that he can rest." _That and I'd rather not spend the rest of my evening in a bar parking lot_ , I think to myself. "And if you wouldn't recommend going to a bar in this weather, then why are you here?"

He immediately produces a set of keys from his pocket and jingles them. "Simple. Four wheel drive and twenty-three years of experience behind the wheel." He says. "So when your brother's finished hurling, I'll drive you two home. Deal?"

What I want to say is "I'm sorry, but we'll be fine," or "no thank you, we'll wait out the storm inside my car," or "what about mine and Sasuke's car?" At the very least, I _should_ have said "I don't even know you." But before my brain can come up with a polite way to decline the man's offer, I am collecting my brother in my arms and herding him in the direction of this stranger's care before I realized that I've said "yes."

-8-8-8-

It becomes crystal clear when I am riding in the back seat of a stranger's car in the middle of a downpour, stroking my sleeping sibling's hair that I may have made a mistake.

"You've grown awfully quiet." The man comments, glancing into the review mirror at me. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." I lie. Forty-three percent of rape related crimes occur between 6pm and midnight and one out of thirty three men have experienced an attempted or completed rape, but the numbers are not exactly accurate as most men are too embarrassed or ashamed to report that they have been raped, so the numbers might be higher.

If it's in this man's agenda to rape me, I'd have a 90% chance of evading him on any given day, taking into his consideration the man's height and strength. Taking the rain into consideration, and how it would cause my hair to stick to my face, thus hindering my eyesight, and the lack of traction on the ground for me to escape my pursuer, I think I'd have about a 74% rate of success.

I glance down at my intoxicated brother who has long since rested his head against my jeans as he sleeps, unaware of the imminent danger we might be in. The chances of protecting both myself and Sasuke from this man, in his drunken state and in this storm have significantly lowered our chances of success to 32% if we're lucky.

"What is your name?" I ask, knowing that I may be taking a risk by doing so. If he did have ulterior motives, my asking of his name might arouse suspicion and cause him to pull over to the side of the road and finish the deed sooner than later.

"Kisame." He answers. "And yours?"

"How can I be sure that you're not a serial killer?"

At this, Kisame laughs outright, causing Sasuke to stir in my lap and wince at the sudden noise. "You think I'm a criminal?" He asks. "I own a restaurant, why would you think that I am a criminal?"

I keep my eyes level with his in the rearview mirror and show no signs of fear or trepidation. "Most criminals hide in broad daylight. They could be your neighbors, your school teachers, or your best friend from high school and you would ne none the wiser." I explain. "You're a stranger to me; it's natural to second guess your intentions."

Kisame chuckles. "I assure you, my only intention is to get you and your brother home safely, I swear it on my grand-father's grave." He says. "Besides, if you were so worried about my 'true intentions,' then why did you get in my car with me?"

I have no answer for this and whisper under my breath "I wasn't thinking clearly."

Kisame seems to have heard my quiet admission and responds "You probably swallowed too much rain water then. If I were you, I'd be a little more careful next time in case a _real_ serial killer decides to take advantage of you." He laughs. "I can show you my driver's license when we reach our destination if you still think that I'm some kind of criminal."

By then, it might be too late, I think to myself. "You mentioned that you owned a restaurant." I state, changing the direction of the conversation.

"Hm-hm. Bought out a dying pizzeria that failed it's last health inspection and made it my own."

"Is it still a pizzeria?"

From my position in the backseat, I can see Kisame's facial expression twist into a look of distaste. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no." He says. "It's a Mediterranean restaurant now."

"Are you of Mediterranean descent?" I ask him. I'm normally pretty astute so such things, but at this hour, it's hard to make out his skin tone and any other features that would indicate his nationality.

Kisame nodded. "Hm-hm. Greek; born and raised." He answered. "I grew up in a family of cooks. My uncle owned a restaurant where my entire family was employed. I practically grew up there." He smiles fondly.

I remember when my father would take me to the police station when I was younger and the incredible boredom I felt when he would do nothing but boast about me and my achievements to his co-workers, and if he wasn't busy schmoozing, he was filing reports.

I can only imagine what it must have been like to spend a day amid the fast-paced hustle and bustle of a family run restaurant. "That sounds like fun."

"Oh, it was a blast! Think family reunion on steroids; there's food everywhere, you're surrounded by all of your grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and nobody knows what's going on and everyone is shouting in Greek at one another at the top of their lungs!" He says. "It's a fun time, alright."

"So are you a chef at your restaurant, or are you the manager?" I ask him.

"Oh, I do everything! I'm the manager, the chef, the sous-chef, the caterer, the waiter; you name it, I do it. But not all at once, mind you."

I nod and wish that I can take back the things I said earlier about this man being a rapist or a serial killer. He seems to be exactly what he says he is – a Greek chef who runs his own restaurant business.

"Take a left up here." I direct him, pointing to the upcoming street.

"Here?" He asks, and turns on his signal.

"Yeah. It's the third house from the corner." I tell him and attempt to shake my sleeping sibling awake, but to no avail. He's out cold.

"Need some help?" Kisame asks me once he pulls into the driveway, aware that I've face the issue of getting a hundred and sixty pounds of dead weight from the car to the front door and onto the couch – a feat that never gets any easier.

"I'm afraid I might." I admit sheepishly and work to push Sasuke into a sitting position.

Kisame turns off the engine and pulls the keys from the ignition before climbing out of the driver's side to help me carry Sasuke.

"C'mere, big boy." Kisame says, holding his arms out to catch Sasuke's weight when I push him into his waiting arms.

It's funny. Forty-five minutes ago, I was recalling male rape-statistics in the back-seat of a stranger's car only to rely on the help of this man to transport my drunken brother to the front door of my home.

"You can come in if you'd like." I tell him, once Sasuke is resting on the couch. While I'd rather keep Kisame outside instead of inviting him into my home, I have to take care of Sasuke, and inviting him in for a warm cup of coffee is the least I can do since he was so kind as to drive forty-five minutes out of his way to get us both home in this rain.

"No thanks." He declines and shifts around in his wallet for something.

I am expecting him to produce his driver's license and am surprised when he hands me a business card instead. "Hoshigaki's" It reads, which I assume to be the name of his restaurant. My question is answered when I glance at the man's name – Kisame Hoshigaki – printed at the bottom of the card.

"My number is written there as well." He points out. "Call my cell, when you're ready, okay?"

Was this his way of saying he wants to take me out on a date?

Apparently, I look as confused as I feel when he elaborates "Your car. I assume you don't want me to drive you back to the bar tonight so you can drive home, do you? If so, you owe me five dollars in gas money for driving you here!" He laughs.

That's right. I did abandon my car in favor of hitching a ride home with this man. "Right. Thanks." I tell him.

"Anytime." He says with a wide grin, and turns to head back to his car. "Oh, that reminds me. You never told me your name."

I think it's safe to assume that I've made more critical mistakes tonight than I have in the twenty-seven years I've been alive. Not only have I relied on this man to take me home and take me to pick up my car, but now he wants to know my name?

I find myself fingering the corners of the business card still in my hand and answer "Itachi."

"Itachi?" He asks. I nod in verification. "I'll be seeing you soon, then, Itachi." He says, and hops into his car.

I watch as he drives away, his red backlights illuminating the rain droplets as they fall onto the wet pavement and keep watching until his car turns and disappears among the other houses in the development.

"Itachi?" A low voice mumbles from the living room.

Unbelievable. I was too engrossed with the events that transpired over the past hour that I forgot about taking care of Sasuke. "Coming." I say, and gently close the front door behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until next time,  
> Itachi's Husband


	3. Chapter 3

It is half past 2am when I have finally managed to change Sasuke out of his wet clothes, dry his hair, and change out of my own sodden garments in favor of dry ones and sit in one of the living room chairs with a weary sigh. Across from me, Sasuke is out for the count on the couch, his head propped up on one of his pillows and his body draped with his comforter from upstairs.

I may have made countless mistakes all evening but I think I can safely say that I can file this one under a success.

Thinking back to those many mistakes reminds me that that man – what was his name? Kisame? Gave me a business card before he left.

I rise from my chair and walk the few paces to where I've moved the coffee table to the side of the room so that Sasuke would not trip over it or, God forbid, roll onto the glass surface if he awoke in the middle of the night. It is here that I have placed the little rectangular piece of cardstock with the stranger's contact information.

"Hoshigaki's." I whisper when I sit back down in my chair, holding the tiny card in my hands by the corners as if holding it in my palm would cause it to shatter into a million pieces. "Authentic Mediterranean Cuisine."

I spare a glance at Sasuke, who I still sound asleep, and judging by the slight rising and falling of the comforter draped across his sleeping form, I know that he is still breathing, which is a good thing. But no matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to entertain the thought of leaving him here by himself tomorrow morning in his hung-over state while I go with Kisame to retrieve my car.

He's been hung-over like this before, I tell myself. There had to have been times that he was out drinking and I didn't know about it, and he managed to find his way home. I wonder how many of those times there were. How many of those times did he drive himself home, drunk, and I wasn't aware of it? How many times has he accepted a ride from one of his equally drunken friends and crashed at their apartment for the night so that I wouldn't scold him for his reckless behavior? How many times has he nearly missed colliding with a tree, or another car, or a drunken patron in the parking lot?

I shake my head in a desperate attempt to stop such thoughts from continuing. Sasuke is here with me now, and he is safe, and that is all that matters. That doesn't mean that I won't remind him tomorrow afternoon that he can call me at any hour of the day and I will drop what I'm doing to pick him up from wherever he is. I won't ask any questions, and we'll deal with the details and consequences later.

But there is still the issue of picking up my car. I don't want to leave him here alone in this state, but for reasons I can't fully comprehend yet, I don't want to call the stranger who talked me into accepting a ride when Sasuke is fully awake and can comprehend what is going on either.

With a tired yawn, I decide that I've done enough tonight and head upstairs to grab my own pillow and comforter so I can keep an eye on Sasuke throughout the night.

-8-8-8-

"Hello?"

I allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief when Kisame answers the phone. So he did indeed give me the correct number to reach him at. "Hello, Kisame?"

"That's me! But who is this?"

"It's Itachi Uchiha from the bar last night," I say and glance over my shoulder to make sure that Sasuke is still sound asleep on the couch, "you said you would take me to pick up my car this morning."

"I do recall!" He merrily chirps on the other end of the line. "What time do you want me to swing by to pick you up?"

"When are you free?" I ask.

"I'm free whenever you are!"

I glance down at the square piece of cardstock in my hands that reads "Hoshigaki's – Mediterranean Cuisine" on the front as I decide the best way to say "Sometime before my brother wakes up to all of the mistakes I made last night." "Preferably soon." I settle on. "Within the next hour, if you can? If not, I'm free for the rest of the day as well—"

"Sometime within the next hour? That can be arranged! See you in a few, Itachi!" He says when the line clicks off.

I'm not sure how far away Kisame lives from me but it shouldn't prove problematic. I've since tucked my cell phone into the pocket of my jeans, my car keys are still sitting on the coffee table in the living room from last night and my shoes are sitting by the door. There is, however, one more thing I need to check off my list before I can leave for the afternoon.

"Sasuke," I say and gently rouse him from his slumber.

"Wutdyouwantachi?" Sasuke slurs.

"I'm going out for a little while. Will you be fine by yourself?"

Sasuke props himself up on his forearms enough so that he can lay in the opposite direction and burrows into the back of the couch. "I'm twenty two, of courseimgonbefine."

I somehow doubt that and walk into the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water. I know he won't drink it immediately, but at least it will be there for him if he needs it later. "I'm setting a glass of water on the coffee table in case you get thirsty. Please make an attempt to drink it while I'm gone, okay?"

"Surewhatevr" He mumbles and immediately drifts back to sleep.

-8-8-8-

"Sorry I'm late," Kisame says as he leans out of his car window, "I couldn't remember how to get here…"

To my horror, I realize that I forgot to give this man my address the night before. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." I tell him as I climb into his dark blue SUV.

Kisame shrugs slightly. "It's fine, Itachi, really. Who knew that houses had numbers that were visible from the road!" He jokes, alluding to the fact that he couldn't see them properly last night when it was raining. "It's a lot easier to find somebody's house when you have a human GPS telling you how to get there." He says with a chuckle and pulls the gear shift into reverse. "How's your brother doing this morning?"

"He's been sleeping on the couch nursing his hangover from last night." I say when a realization dawns on me: Kisame was drinking at the bar last night too.

"What about yourself?" I ask as nonchalantly as possible, hoping that he won't suspect my growing concern, especially since he's driving me to pick up my car.

"I'm great. I didn't have anything to drink last night." He says.

"Then why were you at the bar if you weren't going to have anything to drink?" I can't help but ask before I can second guess myself.

"Don't get me wrong, I meant to knock back quite a few beers last night and maybe even a whiskey or too but as soon as I said my order, I realized that I left my wallet in the car and the bartender was new so I couldn't just tell him to place it on my tab." He says. "Then I ran into you and the rest is history."

He speaks as if he hasn't a care in the world, I think to myself before it dawns on me that my sitting out in the rain may have ruined this man's good time. I open my mouth to apologize but think better of it. It wasn't my fault that my inebriated sibling called me to drive him home in the middle of a downpour. But I can't suppress the many teachings my mother instilled in me since I was a young child: always apologize when you have inconvenienced someone. I open my mouth to do just that when Kisame speaks again.

"Poor kid can't hold his whiskey can he?" Kisame laughs.

I shake my head. "He doesn't have a problem consuming alcohol so long as he does it in moderation," I tell him, "a concept he clearly hasn't mastered yet."

Kisame nods. "How old is he?"

"Twenty-two." I answer.

"Well he's still young! He has plenty of time to figure it out!" He laughs. "I mean, that's not good for _you_ since you're the one he'll call to pick him up in the early hours of the morning!"

"I don't care what he does or how late he calls; I'd rather get a call from him asking me to pick him up from the bar than receive a call from the city morgue asking me to ID his body." I note grimly. I hate to ruin Kisame's playful humor on the subject but what I said was the truth and one I had instilled in Sasuke several months _prior_ to his twenty-first birthday.

I'm not sure how I expected Kisame to react, but out of the corner of my eye I see him nodding. "You're a good brother."

"Thank you." I reply with the slightest of smiles gracing my lips. The last person to tell me that was my mother when I was eight years old. Sasuke was five and just starting to sleep in his own bedroom but couldn't shake the notion that there were snakes in his closet. Unable to bear the thought that my younger brother was scared to sleep in his own room, I spent my allowance money on a mini red flash light for him to use in case he was ever unsure of what was lurking in the depths of his closet. Although Sasuke was too embarrassed to thank me at the time, he never complained of snakes slithering around in his closet ever again after that night. To this day, I think he still has that red flashlight sitting in the glove compartment of his car.

 _"_ _You're such a good brother."_ I remember my mother saying to me at the check-out line when I purchased the flashlight.

I don't know why, but hearing those words from the man sitting in the seat beside me ignites a feeling of pride deep down inside me. But who wouldn't take pride in a compliment given to them? But this wasn't a distant relative complimenting me at a family get together, it was a man I had only met yesterday. _Yesterday!_ How could he say something so sincerely without hardly knowing who I am?

My thoughts are immediately disrupted when a loud ringing permeates the inside of the car. _"Hello?"_ Kisame answers in a slightly accented voice. From the other end of the line comes a slow, almost uncertain response in a language that is foreign to me. Greek, I presume, unless Kisame is well versed in other languages besides his native tongue. As I am not familiar with the language, I focus my attention at the passing houses and stores. Only when Kisame's tone increases do I turn my attention away from the window and onto him. His brow is furrowed and his mouth is drawn into a deep frown that reminds me of how my father appeared when he returned home from a long day of work at the station.

Less than a minute later, Kisame disconnects the call, effectively cutting off the speaker on the other end of the line.

"Do you mind if we take a quick detour to my restaurant?" Kisame asks. "I promise I'll take you to get your car when I'm finished, but apparently they need _me_ to come in and clean up their mess." He grumbles with apologetic eyes.

"That's fine." I tell him.

"Are you sure?" He asks with concerned eyes.

I nod. "I don't have anything else planned for today save for picking up my car. Is everything alright?" I ask him.

Kisame flips his turn signal as we approach an upcoming traffic light and shakes his head. "We received a request to cater for a family reunion and my nephew didn't write down the correct date when he took the order even though I told him to double check that sort of thing over a _thousand_ times and he still can't get it right." He grumbles. "And on top of that, one of my cooks is out sick with the flu so we're down a man and everyone is panicking and arguing with each other which is why I have to be the one to save the day like usual." He runs a hand through his spiky hair and lets it come to rest at the back of his neck. "I'm really sorry."

"It's fine. Things are bound to come up when you own a family restaurant." I say with a small smile.

My words must have deeply resonated with Kisame who looks at me with a warm smile. "Thank you so much; you don't know how grateful I am of your patience and consideration and I _promise_ I'll take you to pick up your car as soon as I can. I _promise_."

"Take as long as you need."

-8-8-8-

It takes only ten minutes for us to arrive at Hoshigaki's which is nestled in a small town that is primarily composed of suburban housing developments, Kisame says. "Our clientele is mostly small families and middle aged couples. Nice people." He muses. Though his words are relaxed and carefree, his mouth always settles into a tight line, a clear marker of his agitation concerning restaurant matters. "Are you hungry? Order anything you want, my treat." He says as he puts the car in park in front of the establishment.

"No thank you, I'm not very hungry at the moment." I say, unbuckling my seatbelt.

"Are you sure?" He asks. "It's the least I can do since I dragged you all the way out here."

"It's fine." I tell him and step out of the car. "You mentioned that this used to be—"

"A pizzeria." He answers.

If he hadn't said anything to me yesterday, I would've never guessed by the exterior of the establishment which is small and cozy like a countryside cottage, as opposed to an obtrusive white cinder block building like most of the pizzerias I've seen in my lifetime. The front windows are small and adorned with simple planters overflowing with vibrant green vines and pink morning glories all contained within wrought iron boxes hinged over the edge of the sill. These same flowers lazily hang above the terrace gracing the side patio for patrons enjoying their meals outdoors

"Like what you see?"

"Excuse me?" Immediately my eyes hone in on Kisame's face, his torso—

"The terrace. We installed right after we bought it. My _yia-yia_ insisted." He smiles with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that tells me he knows what I thought he meant.

I turn away in an attempt to hide the heat rising to my cheeks. As I climb the few steps that lead the front entrance, I notice Kisame walk ahead of me out of the corner of my eye and look up to see him holding the door open for me.

"After you." He purrs.

This does nothing to squash the increasing blood flow rushing to my face but I hope that the low lighting inside will help to mask it until I take a few minutes to compose myself.

I flinch when Kisame's hand lightly graces my left shoulder blade as he leans in to whisper "Go ahead and make yourself at home, okay? Sit anywhere you want."

I offer a quick nod in response and head for a seat that is nestled in the far corner by a large window and take a moment to observe my surroundings. Across the room, Kisame is stalking up to the front counter and calling out to the workers in the back. Within moments, a heavy set woman with a round face and bright lipstick appears with a glass in one hand and a wash cloth in the other. The woman greets Kisame with a pleasant smile, which he returns back before rapidly questioning her – most likely concerning what needs to be done for the upcoming commission. A minute later, a tall boy with translucent blond, almost white, hair appears from around the corner, greeting Kisame with outstretched arms and a lopsided smile. Kisame does not greet him with the same amount of warmth and instead begins to shout something in Greek which causes the boy to shrink back and let his hands fall by his sides. I assume that _this_ is the nephew Kisame spoke of earlier in the car.

Just then, the heavy set woman catches my eye and sets the glass and wash rag on the countertop behind her. I turn away and direct my attention outside, hoping to look uninterested. After all, there are other patrons in the dining room this morning who are simply reading the morning paper. The key difference between them and myself is that they have ordered a cup of tea or a glass of water at some point of another whereas I have not been waited on at all.

"Welcome to Hoshigaki's!" The waitress greets me, pen and pad ready to take my order. "How are you this morning?"

"Good, thank you. You don't need to—"

"Can I start you off with anything to drink today? Soda, tea—"

"No thank you, I'm just waiting for a friend." I say with a raised hand.

The waitress raises a trimmed eyebrow. "What you say?"

"I'm not really here to dine, I'm just waiting for a friend." I reiterated and look to Kisame who has disappeared.

"You can order drink before your friend comes?" The waitress nods, hoping that I will relent.

I shake my head. "No thank you." I tell her when Kisame appears from around the corner in a white apron.

"Did you change your mind?" He asks me.

If I say no, will it cause him more trouble than he's already dealing with? In the end, my hesitation tells Kisame that I have not changed my mind which results in him shouting something across the room to the waitress, who shouts something back to him. The exchange continues a few more times before I answer "I'll take a glass of water, please."

Kisame points at me and shouts something in Greek before pointing to the kitchen and disappearing around the corner once more.

The waitress nods and scribbles down my order with a wide smile before she too disappears behind the counter and into the kitchen.

In the meantime, I try to busy myself by staring out the window at the people jogging and walking their dogs along the sidewalk every now again. Behind me, I can faintly hear Kisame shouting at someone in Greek along with two or three other voices shouting back at him or one another. I can't help but wonder if this is what it would be like if Sasuke and I went into the restaurant business together – shouting at each other from the tops of our lungs so that the patrons in the dining room can hear us. How Kisame does it, I do not know. But then again, he is the manager so maybe this is only a seldom occurrence. But even _that_ is hard to believe.

A soft 'clink' sounds next to me as the waitress sets down my glass without a word.

"Thank you." I say to her retreating back. I don't receive an answer in response.

Nearly ten minutes have gone by when the elderly gentlemen who was reading the newspaper when we arrived departed, leaving his newspaper and a small tip behind. I wait for the man to pull out of the parking lot before rising from my seat to snatch the paper he left behind so that I can amuse myself for the time being. Kisame is still hard at work, I assume, as the shouting has significantly lessened but hasn't disappeared completely. Every now and again I will hear the clashing of metal followed by the predictable shouting and a few minutes later, all will be quiet.

"Steak gorgonzola, on the house!" The young man I assume to be Kisame's nephew says and hands me a steaming plate of alfredo noodles topped with my least favorite food.

"There must be a mistake, I told Kisame that I wasn't hungry."

The waiter's smile falters slightly before he says "Hey, I only follow orders, so—"

 _"_ _Suigetsu!"_ Kisame shouts from the front counter, quickly making his way over to the table. "I told you he wasn't hungry, what part of 'he's not hungry' can't you get through your thick skull?" And before I can blink the two men are arguing over me in Greek using wild hand gestures while the waitress stands a few feet away with her hands clasped in front of her chest as though she is hiding something.

And although I do not know what exactly the two men are saying, I know that I am the one who caused it and see fit that I am the one who puts an end to it. "It's fine. I'll eat it."

"Are you sure?" Kisame asks. "I thought that you said you weren't hungry?"

I shake my head. "It's fine. I don't want to cause you any more trouble than necessary." I tell him.

"It's not your fault Itachi, I promise." He says and sends Suigetsu a glare that promises severe consequences should any other infractions occur before the end of the day. "If you're not hungry, I can send it back to the kitchen, it's no big deal."

"It's fine. I'd rather not let it go to waste."

"Are you sure?"

I nod.

"Okay." He says and rests a hand on my shoulder again, sending a shiver down my spine. "I'm almost done, I promise. Give me twenty more minutes _at most_." He promises me.

"Take your time. I'm in no rush." I say and glance down at my plate.

"Glad to hear it." He smiles and pats my shoulder before gesturing for his nephew to follow him back to the kitchen and the waitress to greet the incoming customers.

In my day to day life, I encounter many different people – financial examiners, budget analysts, accountants, logisticians, management analysts, etc. And one thing these people all have in common is that they are in positions of power – they are leaders in the corporate world. And although an average accountant does not hold as much power as a financial analyst does, an accountant is responsible for all of the accounts that they manage. Likewise, a financial analyst is responsible for all of the accountants they manage and so on and so on.

Since an early age, my father has instilled within me the value of hard work, confidence, decisiveness, and leadership, citing that those traits are what defines a hardworking man and creates the foundation for a stable career and household. And I didn't disagree. Although I didn't particularly like to be in power, someone who knew what needed to be done was expected to rise to the occasion and lead their team to reach the same goals – be it a midterm project in a high school history class or the team leader of a major financial project at work – a leader was always needed and most of the time, I was the person who took charge. There were occasions, however, where somebody else would step up and take the lead without hesitation and I always admired those individuals for their sense of responsibility.

But in Kisame's world, leadership doesn't mean $500 Armani suits, brief cases and luxury cars. It means rolled up sleeves, a white apron covered in grease stains, and a cast iron skillet. Although Kisame doesn't have an office or access to a conference room with the perfect view of the interstate running into the city, he still possesses all of the traits that make up a leader.

And I admire him for it much more than I've admired any other person in power I have ever come across before because unlike most leaders, Kisame isn't afraid to roll up his sleeves and get down and dirty with employees who were paid minimum wage. He comes in, does what he needs to do, commands his team with authority, and remains humble throughout it all.

All very attractive qualities, I'll admit.

-8-8-8-

"I forgot to ask," Kisame casually mentions when we were less than five minutes away from the bar, "did you enjoy the steak gorgonzola? You can be honest, my feelings won't be hurt."

"I'm not a big fan of steak, honestly." I admit and am taken aback slightly when I realize how comfortable I've become in this man's presence.

"I noticed you didn't really touch it. I was about to lecture Suigetsu about internal temperature again but decided that I wasted enough of your day already." He chuckled. "You'd be surprised how often customers complain about food prepared by that kid. Happens way more often than I'd like to admit!"

And to my surprise, it seems as though this man has become comfortable in my presence as well. "It's fine."

"It's really not though. Your first impression of my restaurant should've been the best. Today was not the best."

I chuckle to lighten up the mood. "It's fine, Kisame. _Really_."

But Kisame does not seem convinced. "Do you still have that business card I gave you?" He asks as we pull into the parking lot.

"Hm-hm. Why?"

Kisame is silent for a minute before he turns to me and says "Because I'd like to take you out for a do-over and show you the best of what Hoshigaki's has to offer. _My treat_."

Although I have known this man for less than twenty-four hours, there is something about the warmth of his whiskey-colored irises that make me feel at ease.

"If you're willing, that is." He adds.

Giving this man's restaurant – something he obviously takes great pride in – a second chance is the least I can do to repay this man for all of the things he has done for me in the short amount of time that I've known him. "Sure."

"Have any particular day in mind? I'm free everyday this upcoming week except for tomorrow and Thursday." He says. "Oh, and Mondays and Wednesdays are the slowest if you don't want to be bothered with too many people though I can't guarantee my nosy relatives won't bother us while we eat."

"I can do Friday night if that's alright with you." I tell him.

"Friday night?" He asks.

I nod.

"Friday night it is!" He agrees. "See you then and take care, Itachi!" He calls out when I step out from the car and head in the direction of my own forgotten vehicle.

"Take care!" I shout with a short wave, refusing to look behind me because if I do, Kisame will no doubt see the horror staining my rosy cheeks as the reality of what I have just done sets in: I've agreed to and scheduled a date with this man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the chapter Kisame mentions his "yia-yia" and I looked it up before (when I originally wrote this chapter) and I think it means "grandmother" but I'm not entirely sure. There will be times in the future when I'll have Kisame drop a Greek word here or there and I'll try to provide the translations for them at the end of the chapter for you all.
> 
> I was also striving to include at least one piece of parental advice from either one of Itachi's parents from his youth to tie into this chapter but couldn't come up with anything. Parental advice, as well as the incorporation of more Greek words, are soon to come!
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> Until next time,  
> Itachi's Husband


	4. Chapter 4

Ever since arriving home from school at 3:00pm, I had immediately gotten to work on an essay describing the different programs developed during the Great Depression and the benefits and detriments of each. I was currently nose deep in an article which discussed the National Recovery Administration when a soft knock came to the door.

"Itachi?" My mother called.

"Come in." I responded back, never tearing my eyes from the computer screen until my mother peered inside.

"Dinner's almost ready." She said.

The clock on the lower right of the screen read 6:15pm. "Okay." I turned around in my chair to finish typing the last few things that I wanted to say before saving my progress.

"How was school today?" My mother asked when he finally ventured downstairs.

I rolled up his shirt sleeves to wash his hands at the sink. "It was good." I answered in the same manner I had always answered that question ever since I was in kindergarten.

"That's good." Mikoto smiled. "Did you talk to anybody today?"

_Besides my teachers? No._

"Meet anyone new?"

There it was. I _knew_ that she had an ulterior motive in mind when she called me down for dinner _before_ dinner was actually ready.

Mikoto chuckled softly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ears – a nervous habit I noticed when I was still in grade school when my teachers would rave about how smart I was during parent teacher conferences. "You don't have to tell me if you're dating anyone if you're not ready or anything like that."

"I'm not." I said, turning off the faucet and flicking the excess water from my fingers into the sink.

Mikoto paused for a moment to recollect her thoughts given this new piece of information before continuing. "Well if you _were_ dating someone, don't feel pressured to tell me about it until you think that you might want to spend the rest of your life with this girl."

 _Can we please stop talking about this?_ I wanted to say. At fifteen years old, I was a sophomore in high school, and nearly a year younger than the rest of my peers who would be celebrating their sweet sixteens soon and applying for their learner's permit. And while I couldn't wait to learn how to drive so that I could stop taking the bus to and from school each day, that was about the _only_ thing I was looking forward to.

"That being said, I don't want you to screw up your first date, or any date for that matter."

I can't help but smile as I'm driving back home from retrieving my car that afternoon. Back then, I wanted nothing to do with women or romance. The only thing I cared about was thriving in my studies so that I could get good grades which would lead to substantial scholarships and offers from top schools. And attending a prestigious college opened the door to a plethora of job opportunities and eventually, a well-paying salary that could be used to support myself and a future family if ever he decided to settle down with someone.

In short, romance was the _last_ of my priorities.

 _"_ _I'd like to take you out for a do-over and show you the best of what Hoshigaki's has to offer. My treat."_ Kisame had said less than thirty minutes ago.

Whilst I remember everything my mother had said to me that day (in part because I thought that it was ludicrous to want to go on dates when SAT prep was much more important at the time), she never explained how a date was initiated or how to initiate one myself.

 _When you don't understand the main idea of a sentence or statement, break it into parts to dissect its meaning._ I learned at a young age. So that's what I did.

 _I'd like to take you out._ That was what one said when they wanted to go on a friendly excursion or date.

 _For a do-over_. But if he wanted to go on a date, surely he would've said _"_ date" instead of "do-over." _Do-over (n) informal: An opportunity to ty or perform something a second time._ In that case, what were we trying to do over?

_And show you the best of what Hoshigaki's has to offer._

By analyzing the rest of the sentence, I've come to the conclusion that Kisame merely wants to give me a chance to repeat my first visit of his restaurant and try something on the menu that I might actually like. And because I hadn't wanted to order the steak gorgonzola in the first place and didn't really care much for it, he's going to pay for my meal.

Although I've come to the conclusion that this is just a friendly excursion, I can't help but feel a bit disappointed. In the sixteen or so hours that I've known this man, I've come to enjoy his company. He's kind, funny, and surprisingly easy to talk to. He's also ambitious and hard working it seems, a quality I don't often see in the corporate world where I come from because while my fellow co-workers work hard to earn a living for themselves and their families, their job is only that – a job – whereas Kisame works hard doing what he loves. Cooking seems to have been in his family for generations and it's evident by the staff – who is entirely, if not, mostly familial – and he working hard to maintain that tradition. It's not just a paycheck. For him, it's a way of life, and the only one he's ever known.

And it's a quality that makes me want to stare at him a little longer than necessary, to scrutinize the love of life in his eyes and the mirth in his smile. This is a man who loves what he does and wouldn't trade it for the world.

This is the type of man I'd like to emulate someday.

-8-8-8-

For the rest of Sunday through Thursday, my body has been on auto-pilot. And when Friday comes, I'm both excited and anxious for my outing with Kisame tonight. I can't wait to see him again and feel what I felt on my way home Sunday afternoon. Conversely, I think I might be developing feelings for him too quickly and that he may not reciprocate them. Since I haven't known him for that long, I don't know him very well to be able to anticipate how he feels about me or what he'll say if I muster up the courage to ask him (which I doubt I will). Being a virtual stranger, however, has its benefits as I can act as though we've never met after tonight without hurting his feelings because we're not friends, we're not family, we're not neighbors. We don't even work together. So if Kisame doesn't share the same feelings for me as I do for him, I won't have to bear the burden of seeing him wherever I go.

It'll be like he never existed. And I can go back to life as it was before I met him.

I am just ducking into my black Nissan Sentra when my phone vibrates. Once I am seated inside the car, I pull my phone from my pocket to read the text I just received.

 _'_ _I was planning to pick you up to go to the restaurant tonight is that ok?'_ It reads and without having to look at the contact number I know who it is.

Despite my minimal knowledge of the mechanics behind dating, I'm pretty certain that when the opposite party volunteers to pick you up at your house, it is officially considered a date paired with the fact that the destination in mind is a restaurant.

 _'_ _You don't have to go out of your way, I can drive there myself.'_ I reply back although refusing his proposal makes my chest feel tight. Who knows? Perhaps Kisame is just a really friendly person which means that there is still a chance for this to be a simple excursion between friends or repayment for my first experience at Hoshigaki's.

 _'_ _I don't mind. It's not a big deal.'_ He replies back.

 _'_ _Are you sure?'_ I text him.

_'_ _I'm sure. Pick you up at 6:30 then?'_

A wide smile stretches across my face as I reply back with ' _Sure. See you then.'_ And stays there for the duration of the drive home.

Said smile quickly fades when I am confronted with the question of what to wear. What does one were on a date, much less a first date?

 _Dress smart._ I remember my mother telling me that day so many years ago.

One could argue that most of my clothes were smart, but how smart was too smart? Surely showing up to a family owned Greek restaurant located in the suburbs of a small, main street town was taking things too far. I wasn't going to lunch with the president and VP of my company so there was no need for such formalities.

Perhaps a simple suit jacket, dress shirt and dress pants, sans tie? I could wear my black suit-jacket with my crimson dress shirt, charcoal dress pants and black shoes. But that still seems like it would be too much. Maybe a navy suit jacket paired with a light blue shirt and khakis with a brown belt and shoes to match? No, that wouldn't work either. This wasn't an evening social, it was a simple dinner date with a man I barely even knew.

What would Kisame be wearing? I wondered and shook my head. It didn't matter what he would or wouldn't be wearing because that wouldn't help _me_ decide what _I_ should be wearing!

In a fit of frustration, I tossed the navy suit jacket to the bed and pressed my palms against my forehead. _There is absolutely no reason it should be this hard_ , I tell myself and push forward.

Perhaps I should dress in the same fashion that I don to work? In that case, a simple button down shirt and dress pants would suffice. _Yeah, that should work._ But the next question I needed to answer was what type of shirt I should wear. I loved the color black. Black was an excellent contrast against my pale skin and combined with my black hair, accented my dark eyes. But would Kisame see it that way? Or would he think that I was grieving the loss of a relative? _"We're going to dinner, not a funeral!"_ I can hear him laughing as he pulls up to the house. Okay, no black then.

Red? Red also provided a nice contrast against my obsidian hair and cream colored skin. But was that too intense? It was frowned upon to wear red to an interview, but did the same standard hold for when one goes on a date?

Again, I am feeling frustrated and I haven't even been home for more than twenty-five minutes so far. How hard is it to dress up for a date? If high school girls can do it, then surely I can too! But the difference between myself – a twenty-seven year old male – and a sixteen year old girl is that young love isn't always taken so seriously. The male might arrive in baggy jeans and a backwards facing hat whereas the female may arrive wearing a stringy top and a skirt that's too tight. I sort of wish it was that easy and continue to sift through my closet for more options.

 _This might not even be a date._ I remind myself. _But what if it is?_ I can't help but wonder.

In the end, I've decided to wear my black suit jacket, crimson red dress shirt, charcoal colored dress pants and black shoes.

When arrives at 6:55pm, just when I'm beginning to think that he's forgotten about our arrangement or has gotten tied up in restaurant matters, is wearing a form fitting blue V-neck shirt and blue jeans – the exact opposite of what I'm wearing.

"We are going to eat at my restaurant, right?" He asks with a lopsided smile. "Not with the president?"

I walk past him towards his car. "I just came from work." I lie.

"Really?" Kisame says, his tone loaded with skepticism. "Because if I recall, I said that I'd pick you up by 6:30 and I was almost a half hour late, which I apologize for." He says, and quickly runs past me to open the car door for me to get in.

 _That's what couples do on dates._ I tell myself.

"But you didn't say that _you_ were running late." He purrs when he ducks into the driver's side.

I turn my head so that I am looking out the window and respond. "Neither did you."

"Touché." He admits. "And I said I was sorry! God you're hard to impress. But that's okay. My food will knock your socks off, just you wait!" He promises and backs out of the driveway.

-8-8-8-

 _Pita, gyro, Panini, steak, shrimp, lasagna, bruchetta, parmigiana, and eggplant._ Those words, I recognize. _Saganaki, kolokithi, dolmades, souvlaki, and Bellagio._ These are the words I am not familiar with, prompting Kisame to lean over the table and describe them.

" _Saganaki_ is basically a fried cheese appetizer." He explains.

"Okay." I nod and point to another dish.

" _Kolokithi_ is just the Greek word for the description below. 'Crispy zucchini strips served with tzatziki.'"

"What's that?" I ask, refusing to even pronounce the word for fear of insulting him.

" _Tzatziki_? Oh that's just a type of sauce used to dip meat in. It's made with yogurt, cucumbers, salt, olive oil, red wine vinegar and a few other things I can't tell you about because it's a family secret." Kisame grins. "What else do you got?"

"Dolmades?" I try to pronounce and point to the name.

"Ah, _dolmades_." He says. "Dolmades are exactly what the menu says they are: grape leaves stuffed with ground beef and rice and braised with an aromatic sauce. It's really good."

"Would you recommend it?" I ask before my brain can catch up. _Of course he'll recommend it. He owns this place._

"Of course! I recommend everything on the menu because I grew up on everything!" He states almost verbatim to what I thought he'd say. "There are a few common Italian dishes, you'll notice, but it'd make me really happy if you tried some of the traditional Greek dishes." He says.

I had noticed the Italian dishes when I was first given the menu and was tempted to order them due to the fact that I could pronounce their names. Even after Kisame explained some of the more traditional options, I'm still hesitant.

"I mean, it's completely up to you! I'm just saying that I'd love for you to try something new. And if you don't like it, I'll buy you something else!"

"That's not necessary." I say, waving my hand dismissively at the notion.

"No, I insist! I told you that I was going to give you the best experience Hoshigaki's can offer and that's what I'm going to do, no matter what the cost."

He said he'd treat me and most of the items on the menu are over twenty dollars as it is. It seems pointless to buy something else should I decide that I don't like what I get. But I came to a Greek restaurant so I might as well eat food that is actually Greek. "Then I guess I'll try to dolmades…" I say, stumbling over the Greek word at the end.

Kisame laughs which causes me to color in embarrassment. "Don't worry, Itachi! You'll be speaking in fluent Greek before you know it! It just takes time!"

I curse myself for wearing red. Usually it's not a problem when I'm at work, but when I become flustered or embarrassed, my face turns red, starting with my ears, and then my cheeks followed by the rest of my face. My red shirt, coupled by the orange glow of the August sunset on the horizon, is only amplifying my shame, I'm sure.

Just then, a waiter stops by our table which distracts Kisame from my mispronunciation and lack of knowledge regarding Greek cuisine. The waiter doesn't greet us or even introduce himself before striking up a conversation – in Greek of course – with Kisame who immediately smiles and stands to give him a hug. I watch as the two laugh and talk and wonder how long it will be before we are asked what we want to eat. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, Kisame points to me in an impromptu introduction I'm guessing and the server rights himself before taking out his notepad to take our orders. "Can I start you off with anything to drink?" He asks me. "As you can see, we offer a wide variety of wines, margaritas, cocktails, beers—"

"No thank you." I tell him. "I'll take an unsweetened tea instead."

The waiter nods and hastily scribbles my order down in his notepad. "And I'm guessing you'll be taking a beer, Kisame?" He asks and continues to scribble as if he knows that is what Kisame is going to say.

Kisame is staring at me. Not the kind of stare one gives when someone is doing something wrong or has something on their face, but the kind of stare you send a friend or family member of someone you are especially fond of and it causes my ears to color. _Just when I was starting to get a grip._

"Actually, I'll take a Pepsi this time, Jinpachi." Only then does he turn away to make eye contact with him.

"Really?" Jinpachi asks with wide eyes and a shake of his head. "I thought sure you'd want a beer."

"Not tonight." He says in such a way that denotes that tonight is a special occasion and glances at me in the same way he was a few moments ago, which only causes my cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink. _Why the hell did I wear a red shirt!?_

"Oh, and can you bring us a plate of _dolmades_ too please?"

The waiter nods. "So unsweetened tea for you, a Pepsi for you, and a plate of dolmades? Is that everything for now?"

Kisame nods. "That's everything for now." And looks to me for confirmation to which I nod.

"Alright then. I'll be back in a few with your drinks and appetizers and get you started." He said and turned to walk in the direction of the kitchen to put our order in.

"He's one of my cousins." Kisame says by way of explanation.

 _One of many, I'm sure._ I think to myself and look down to peruse my menu some more. The menu is comprised of six pages – mezzethakia (appetizers), scarra (grilled dishes), sandwiches, sea (seafood dishes), clasico (main dishes) and drinks (alcoholic beverages). Since I've already ordered both a drink and an appetizer, however, that narrows my choices down to four pages – scarra, sandwiches, sea, and clasico. Sandwiches, to me, have never struck me as much of a dinner dish, especially when my "date" (if I can even refer to Kisame as such) is treating me, and much of the scarra menu consists of various steaks (my least favorite food) and meatballs, which again, don't seem to constitute as a meal which leaves clasico and sea. "Do you know what you want?" I ask Kisame in hopes that his response will help me decide what to order.

"Hm-hm. Stuffed shrimp imperial." He answers without missing a beat. He probably has the entire menu memorized, I conclude. "The question is, do you know what _you_ want?"

I glance at the options presented before me. _Kavourokeftethes. Paella. Chicken yanni. Chicken caprese. Tilapia Picatta. Chicken Bellagio. Pork marsala._ "Not yet…" I utter, my voice trailing off at the end. While every dish includes a brief description of what is inside it, a yanni could mean the difference between an unpleasant meal or a pleasant meal. And I'd rather not let Kisame down by ordering something I'll end up disliking.

"Are the Greek words throwing you for a loop?" He asks me.

I shake my head, unwilling to let him see the confusion which is written all over my face at this point.

Just then, I hear him chuckle and say "Don't worry about the names that aren't familiar. Most of the descriptions will give you a pretty accurate idea of the dish." He says. "What do you have it narrowed down to? Maybe I can help you decide."

It is at this point that I give in and allow him to help me for if I don't, I fear we'll be here until eleven when the restaurant closes for the evening. "I think I'll get the chicken Bellagio." I say with as much confidence as I can muster.

"That's a good one." Kisame agrees. "Are you good to go then?"

I nod and hand him my menu which he stacks together with his own for when our waiter returns. Now that the waiter is gone and I no longer face the task of deciphering the names on the menu, it's just Kisame and I.

 _"_ _Once you've found a girl you think you'd like to pursue a relationship with, take time to get to know her; see what's she like."_ My mother had told me back then. What was there to talk about though? I already knew that Kisame owned the very place that we were dining and that he loved to cook and had a large family. What else was there to talk about?

It turns out that I don't need to actually _say_ anything as Kisame has already beat me to it. "Tell me about yourself, Itachi." He smiles.

The question catches me by surprise. I may be dressed in interview attire, but that does not mean that I came prepared for one. "What do you mean?" I find myself asking and immediately regret doing so. It's such a simple question so why am I having a hard time answering it?

Kisame chuckles and rephrases the question. "All I know about you is that you care enough about your younger sibling to pick him up from a bar in the middle of the night in a rainstorm and that you thought that I was a serial killer of some sort. I also know that you drive a black 2013 Nissan Sentra. But other than that, I don't know anything else about you." He says.

Our waiter returns just then and carefully sets down our drinks before placing a small plate of dolmades in the middle of the table.

"Thanks, Jinpachi. And we're ready to order."

"Okay." Jinpachi nods."

"I'll take the stuffed shrimp imperial." Kisame smiles and looks to me, signaling that it is my turn to order.

"I'll take the chicken Bellagio." I tell him.

"Stuffed shrimp imperial and chicken Bellagio." He recites. "Is that everything?"

"Yup." Kisame answers and hands him our menus before turning back to me. "What do you do for a living? You know what _I_ do, but what do _you_ do?"

"I'm a financial examiner." I answer.

Kisame raises his eyebrows. "So you examine finances, huh?"

"For the most part, yes." I say.

"Sounds boring." He says, and lifts his glass to his lips to take a drink.

"I've always liked math." I tell him with a shrug.

Kisame laughs. "Well maybe you could do some of my finances then if you feel so inclined!"

"I'm sorry but I'm going to have to politely decline." I say, following along with this silly charade of his. "I have enough on my plate as it is."

"Like picking up your little brother from a bar in the middle of the night?" He asks. "How's he been?"

"Better now that he's not hungover." I admit.

Kisame nods and a moment of silence passes between us before he speaks again. "You said your brother was in his twenties, didn't you?"

"He just turned twenty-two last month."

"Is he enrolled in school?" He asks.

I nod. "He's studying to become a substance abuse and behavioral disorder counselor." I say in response to Kisame's unanswered question.

"A substance abuse counselor? Are we talking about the same kid because the kid I met a week ago was drunk off his ass!"

I shake my head. "Sasuke's not addicted to alcohol." I correct. "He only drinks to excess when he's with his friends." I tell him. "He doesn't drink _every_ weekend, but he drinks more often that I would like."

Kisame sighs. "I remember what it was like to be young and have friends and drink the night away. Now I'm old and wrinkly and buried in paperwork and family drama."

I laugh at that. "If it's any consolation, you don't look very old."

Kisame laughs at that. "Let me rephrase that, I may _look_ like I'm in my late thirties, but I feel like I'm in my late _fifties_!" He jokes and takes another sip of his soda.

We're seated under the outdoor terrace by Kisame's choice. The sun is setting behind him, orange like a Halloween jack-o-lantern lit up from the inside, only more intense, and casts long shadows from the wooden planks that create the terrace from above onto the side of the establishment. I glance at Kisame, squinting against the sun's rays and take in his features – his soft gaze, warm smile and sunny disposition. But I'm starting to think that this man is exactly what he seems to be – a hardworking restaurant owner with a heart of gold that rivals the setting sun illuminating him from behind.

"They won't bite, if that's what you're thinking." Kisame says and nods towards the untouched plate of dolmades.

I don't make eye contact with him until I am holding one in between my thumb and forefingers. He's watching me with eyes full of anticipation as I open my mouth and take a bite. It takes almost like a burrito, sans the tortilla, beans, tomatoes, queso, corn and cheese. In short, it's rice mixed with beef rolled into a leaf which adds a crisp crunch to it.

"What's the verdict?" He asks me when I set down the rest of the morsel.

It takes me a few seconds to finish chewing to reply "It's not bad."

Kisame smiles and plucks one off the plate himself "But it's not great." He sighs. "I'm sure you'll enjoy the chicken Bellagio better. But until then, do you mind if I help you finish these? I'm starving."

"Not at all." I say and take another small bite of the one I started.

-8-8-8-

By the time we are finished with our meal, the sun has gone down, and the outdoor terrace is illuminated by tiny tea lights entwined with the vines hanging from the wooden beams, bathing the patio in a warm golden glow. Once Kisame pays the tab – a combined total of fifty some dollars, I noticed when I tried to steal a peek of the bill before he abruptly closed the bill holder from my view – and leads me out to his car to drive me back home.

The duration of the drive is spent in silence, which is odd considering that in the time that I've known him, Kisame has always been the one to fill the silent patches with questions about me, or anecdotes about a fight between two or more of his family members while at work. But he doesn't say a word. Is he waiting for me to say something since he has done most of the talking tonight? I wrack my brain for something to talk about but find that it's pointless. I don't have any stories about family arguments that nearly end in fistfights, my work is spent mostly in silence pouring over scores of balance sheets and expense accounts, and I've never really been a social person. I've always been a loner.

It is only when we pull into my driveway that Kisame breaks the silence. "So," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt, "that was fun."

I nod and curl my fingertips around the Styrofoam edges of the container holding my baklava to go. Kisame insisted after witnessing how much sugar I poured into my unsweetened ice tea (who knew it took ten packets to counteract the bitterness of it, even with the help of the lemon wedge that came with it?) "If you like sweets that much, then you can't leave without ordering a slice of baklava." He'd said.

"No thanks, I'm too full to eat another—" I attempted to say when he called over Jinpachi and ordered a slice of baklava. _Stubborn. Just like Sasuke._ I thought with a fond smile.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" He asks me.

Although he has unbuckled his seatbelt, he makes no attempt to exit the car. I glance at his face which holds a blue tint to it as a result of the increasing darkness as nightfall begins to set in. "Yes." I answer honestly. "Thanks for inviting me out."

"Thank _you_ for giving my restaurant a second chance." He chuckles but his voice is lacking the same mirth as it held earlier this evening. Maybe he's tired? He mentioned that he was doing paperwork for the restaurant most of the day today but that, to me, doesn't sound very strenuous. Perhaps that's because I fill out papers for a living and have grown accustomed to the practice whereas Kisame would rather be cooking haddock and steak as opposed to filing papers away.

"This is going to sound ridiculous since we just met, but I really like you. I like you _a lot_ and was hoping that you felt the same way about me too." He admitted in a soft voice. "I mean, while I wanted to give you a second first impression of my restaurant and treat you to a meal of your choosing, I also thought it'd be a really nice backdrop for a romantic dinner or something."

Immediately all the blood in my head rushes to my cheeks, bypassing my ears.

Kisame sighs. "I mean, maybe I didn't do a very good job of making it _feel_ like a date but my feelings remained unchanged."

I couldn't look up at him and instead kept my eyes trained on the Styrofoam box in my lap. "To be honest, I wasn't sure if this was a date or not." I could feel Kisame's eyes on me now but refused to look up at him. "But I was hoping it was because I like you too." I said and finally turned to face him.

Even in the poor lighting of Kisame's car, I can clearly make out his widened eyes. "You do?"

The blush on my cheeks only deepens but I force myself to continue talking. "I didn't just get home from work when you picked me up. To tell you the truth, I couldn't decide what to wear tonight." I tell him.

A moment of silence falls between us like fog in the early hours of the morning. For the longest time, neither of us say a word and simply just stare into each other's eyes.

_"_ _Act like a gentleman. Don't stare at her like she's a piece of meat you want to feast upon. That is one of the most selfish things a guy can do when he sees a girl he wants to get to know better. In my opinion that is."_

My mother's words ring hollow in my head. I don't care that Kisame is staring at me. In fact, I like the fact that I'm able to capture his undivided attention without having to expel any effort to do so.

"You're blushing, Itachi." Kisame says.

I can't help but turn away out of embarrassment. This is the _last_ thing I wanted Kisame to see!

"Don't turn away." He whispers, capturing my chin in his hand. "I think it's cute."

And before I know it, he's leaning into me, or I'm leaning into him – I don't know which – and honestly, I don't even care. All that matters is the gentle caress of Kisame's finger tips lingering along my jawline as our lips press together in a collision as gentle as a cherry being pushed into the icing of a cupcake and as stimulating as a plug being forced into an electrical socket.

"How could we be so blind?" He breathes when we part. "How could we both be so uncertain that this was a date?" He laughs.

 _If I didn't have the emotional capacity of a brick, then maybe tonight would have turned out differently,_ I want to tell him and say instead "You and I are two very different individuals, that's why."

"You know what they say, don't you? Opposites attract."

A small smile plays at the corner of my lips as I look down at my desert. I only wish that I could turn back time so that I could relive this evening over again and enjoy Kisame's presence and relax for once in my life. But the day is over and all I am left with is the memory of how soft Kisame's lips were when they pressed against my own and a single slice of baklava.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when Kisame places a hand on top of mine. "We should do this again sometime." He says. "As in, I'd like to take you out on another _date_ if that's alright with you."

I nod as all the words that I want to say but cannot voice aloud bubble up inside me. "Yes." I settle on. "I'd like that very much."

"Then it's a _date_." He says and it's obvious to me that he's trying to work in the word as much as possible to avoid any future confusion.

"It's a date." I mimic, an action that causes my ears to heat in embarrassment.

"You're blushing again." Kisame notes and before I know it, or lips have touched together once more in a chaste kiss. "Where would you like to go?" He asks me when we part again.

I push open the car door and step outside, as does Kisame. "It doesn't matter to me." _So long as I get to kiss you again,_ I find myself thinking.

"Do the movies sound good?"

"Yeah." I say. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Does next Saturday morning sound good to you?" He asks.

"Sounds good." I agree.

"Then Saturday morning it is." He smiles and turns to head back to his car. "I'll pick you up around ten, okay?"

"Okay."

"See you then, Itachi! Take care!" He says and hops back into his car.

"Take care." I say even though it is unlikely that he can hear me from inside his car. It isn't until Kisame backs out of the driveway that I realize that Sasuke's car is missing. And for the first time in a very long time, I'm too absorbed in the evening's events to worry about his whereabouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so they kiss! Not once! But twice!
> 
> I don't think I'm very good at writing or describing romance but for those of you who have stuck with me this long - thank you!
> 
> Until next time,  
> Itachi's Husband
> 
> PS - The next chapter is totally written. HOWEVER, I need to greatly revise some parts of it and I probably won't be able to do that until May/June/July. Maybe I can pull it off next week but I have other things I want to update during that time. So I just ask that you stick with me. I could update the next chapter next week and then work on the chapter after that but it would be worth it for you guys and myself to let me revise it first! Then the following chapter will be better too! *fingers crossed*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow revision wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be! I mean, there was a rough patch when I couldn't find my notes for this chapter and I panicked a little but now I found them, completed my revisions and can happily and peacefully move on to the next chapter sometime hopefully soon! (by soon I really mean within the next few months because I'm really busy and have no part of the next chapter started...)
> 
> Note: I used an online Greek translator thingy to decorate Kisame's speech with a little bit of Greek here and there. I'm not Greek so if any of the words aren't correct, feel free to let me know. Some of the words Itachi or Kisame translate in the text. The ones they do not translate can be found at the end of the chapter!

In the days following my “date” with Kisame, I find myself to be in a better mood than usual. I offered to do Sasuke’s laundry on Saturday, I make eye contact when I greet him in the mornings and say goodnight to him in the evenings if he’s home. At work, I offer a pleasant smile to my co-workers as they pass me by, I made a fresh pot of coffee on Tuesday and Wednesday and didn’t lay on my car horn on Thursday when somebody cut me off on a busy street.

 

I shouldn’t be this happy. My outing on Friday can hardly be considered a date. Yes, he drove me to a restaurant, paid for my food, gave me his undivided attention and sealed the night off with not one, but two kisses on the lips but there was opportunity for so much more before then if only I hadn’t overanalyzed things from the beginning.

 

But that kiss. How do I even begin to describe what it felt like to be kissed by Kisame? _Twice?_ Kissing Kisame was like finding a ten dollar bill in the pocket of your jeans. First comes uncertainty as you finger the foreign object in your pocket, then comes surprise once you realize what it is and finally a feeling of happiness knowing that you’re ten dollars richer than you previously thought. To be kissed a second time was to find that you had not just one ten dollar bill, but two! Intensifying the previous emotions.

 

But twice wasn’t enough. I yearn for more. To hold Kisame’s rough hands, calloused from years of working in a kitchen, in my own and look into his eyes, standing still for minutes at a time while the rest of the world rushes around us. To see the corners of his lips shift to form a slight smile, adding a twinkle to his eyes which causes me to lose my composure and grin like an idiot too.

 

Followed by another kiss. One we both expect to happen and _want_ to happen, simultaneously. Effortlessly.

 

This fantasy, however, is shattered by one more day left in the work week which nulls my excitement and dampens my mood slightly.

 

“What’s the matter with you?” Sasuke asks me Thursday evening when he enters the kitchen. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s noticed the change in my demeanor. Having lived together for all of our lives, he’s able to pick up on subtle changes in my mood even when he spends a majority of his time outside the house with friends.

 

The answer comes naturally like inhaling and exhaling. “Nothing, why?”

 

He pries open the refrigerator door with so much force that it rattles the alcoholic beverages stored in the door and reaches in for an energy drink. “You look tired.”

 

Fatigue is plausible enough. “It’s been a long week.”

 

“Yeah, which is why God gave us energy drinks.” He deadpans.

 

I watch him peel back the tab with an angry hiss. Seconds later he’s knocking it back like a shot glass. “So fucking good.” He sighs contentedly.

 

“Language.” I admonish even though Sasuke will not heed my warning.

 

He rolls his eyes. “ _Please_.” He says in a tone that implies he’s old enough to make his own decisions.

 

As much as I hate to admit it, he _is_ old enough to make his own decisions. As such, it’s his choice to moderate the amount of profanity he incorporates into his vernacular even if it’s not what our mother would’ve wanted to hear.

 

Long after Sasuke has disappeared to his room, I find myself leaning against the kitchen counter, yearning for Kisame’s touch and mourning the loss of the innocent little boy who used to call me “Tachi.”

 

-8-8-8-

 

My spirits lighten Friday morning when I receive a text message from Kisame that reads _“Are you excited for our date tomorrow?”_

 

 _“Yes, of course”_ I text back and immediately regret my word choice. _Yes, of course?_ This wasn’t some kind of business proposal, it was a date. And I answered with “yes, of course.”

 

For the next minute all I can manage to do is rest my head in my hands and stare at the impartial text message before me. Would it have killed me to have included an exclamation point at least? Or would Kisame see that as being childish and immature?

 

 _I should add something to that._ There are probably hand shaped imprints on my face when I move to text Kisame back but I don’t care. _“I can’t wait”_ I type. I hesitate before pressing the send button, debating whether or not to add an exclamation point this time.

 

Before I can make a decision, however, my phone vibrates in my hand. “Great! Are there any movies you wanted to see? I’m looking at show times.”

 

 _I guess my simple text didn’t offend him_ , I muse and delete the new text I was composing. _“It doesn’t matter to me either way. You pick.”_ I text back.

 

 _“Okay.”_ He says before adding _“Do you want it to be a surprise?”_

 

I consider this for a moment. _“Sure.”_

 

_“Great! Movie starts at 10:55 AM i’ll pick you up around 10 sound good?”_

 

 _“Perfect.”_ As much as I hate the word, my hope is that I’ll come across a little more excited than I’ve let on so far.

 

_“See you then!”_

 

“See you then,” I whisper under my breath and scroll back through the message. Three. Kisame used a total of three exclamation points throughout the entire conversation whereas I used none.

 

Fatigue. Excitement. Inadequacy. And dread. I think it’s safe to conclude that I’ve run the gamut of emotions and it’s only 8:59 AM. _The next twenty six hours are going to be miserable._ I tell myself and bring my coffee mug to my lips for a long sip as if pouring caffeine into my system will help the above.

 

-8-8-8-

 

The morning of my movie date, I wake up crippled with nausea. Not the kind that occurs after the consumption of spoiled food or as a direct result of an airborne bacteria. No. My nausea is a culmination of anxiety and dread for what is to come. To make matters worse, I didn’t catch any sleep until the early morning hours, a fact I can guarantee is reflected in my appearance.

 

I confirm my suspicion when I take a look in the mirror. It doesn’t matter that the image before me is fuzzy due to my lack of contact lenses. I can clearly make out the dark circles underneath my eyes which are red and glassy from insufficient sleep. To top it all off, my hair looks like a bird’s nest that’s been dragged from out the gutters. _If only Kisame could see me like this. Maybe then he’d reconsider wanting to date me._

 

With a tired yawn, I resolve to at least fix my hair. On the weekends I typically awake at seven but due to my excessive tossing and turning last night I let myself stay in bed an hour and thirty minutes later only to stare blankly at the ceiling.

 

“I can only imagine what Sasuke would say if he saw me like this.” I muse aloud once I am sitting at the small kitchen table. Still clad in my pajamas, I’ve managed to fix my ponytail, prepare two slices of buttered toast and pour myself a tall glass of water to wash down the medicine cup filled to the 2tbsp mark with a thick swirling pink liquid that makes my stomach do backflips just looking at it.

 

What happened in the span of one week to make me like this? For days I’ve been floating on cloud nine, anticipating this day only to find myself paralyzed with nerves. My state of disarray begs the question: _what are you so afraid of?_

 

I know it’s a date this time. There’s no confusion there. Kisame confirmed that it was such via text message yesterday morning so it’s not that. In addition, I’ve had my outfit picked out for days which sounds childish but I will not humiliate myself by appearing at the movies in a suit and tie when Kisame’s wearing a five dollar tee and jeans. For the past week I’ve made it my mission to don attire opposite of what I would wear to an interview or a pricey restaurant and I’m quite pleased with my selection. A long sleeve sweater with varying stripes lining the chest coupled with a light blue button down shirt, dark denim jeans and navy tennis shoes. It’s by far the trendiest outfit I own which should be sufficient. Sasuke helped me pick it out some odd years ago claiming that I wouldn’t know fashion if it kicked me in the ass and I remember reprimanding him for his word usage then too.

 

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that I’m going on a date with someone. Or that I’m even _dating_.

 

I gingerly pick up the tiny medicine cup from the table and swiftly knock it back like a shot glass and quickly wash it down with a glass of water.

In the three weeks that I’ve known Kisame I’ve left Sasuke home alone to his own devices all of two times. Sasuke was hung over the first time and thus completely unaware that I had even left the house. The second time I’d left to attend my first date with Kisame, during which time Sasuke had spent hanging out with friends. With a track record like that, neglecting to tell him about my movie date this morning is the least of my concerns.

 

 _It’s just a movie,_ I tell myself. _All I have to do is show up, eat popcorn, sit back and relax._ That’s all there is to it really. Sure, Kisame will be there but we’ll both be paying more attention to the movie screen than each other, right?

 

As much as I want to convince myself that this is true, I’m wary as to how Kisame will act. I’ve seen enough movies in my lifetime to know all of the moves to get closer to the person you like. Share a popcorn so your hands will inadvertently touch, fake a yawn and stretch so that you can comfortably nest your arm behind your date’s neck, and my least favorite trick, pick a horror movie so that your date will cling to your arm for comfort.

 

I actually really like horror movies so I’m not concerned about Kisame picking one for us to watch. Besides, if scaring me was his agenda, we’d be watching said film late at night instead of early in the morning.

 

If anything, I’m more afraid of Kisame’s hand clasping mine when I least expect it. Why that is, I have no clue.

 

_"You're blushing, Itachi."_

 

My ears immediately heat up. Kisame might have found it “cute” but I was mortified. Whilst it’ll be dark in the theatre, the movie screen will no doubt illuminate my face and if Kisame’s watching—

 

From across the kitchen, my phone begins to vibrate from its position on the countertop. I slowly rise to my feet, noting that someone is attempting to call me when the vibrating doesn’t cease. Of all the people who would contact me at this hour, I’m a little bit surprised when I see Kisame’s name.

 

 _It’s not even nine o’clock yet…_ “Hello?”

 

“Hey. Itachi?”

 

“Yes?” I answer and pray that he doesn’t want to take me out to breakfast first. I haven’t even changed out of my night clothes let alone brushed my teeth. Before he can say anything more my mind is working overtime trying to craft a plausible excuse as to why I can’t meet him for breakfast. _I’m not home right now. My car’s getting a tire rotation. I dropped a container of spoiled milk all over the kitchen floor._

 

Kisame sighs. “I don’t know how to say this but…” his voice trails off. In the background I can make out the sounds him utter something in Greek before he speaks again “The restaurant called.”

 

I release the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding.

 

“The chef got into a fight with my _theia_ and is threatening to quit I…I dunno what’s going on…I just need to get down there to sort things out and I don’t know how long it’s going to take.”

 

Most people would question the validity of his excuse. As if he is looking for a way to cancel our planned outing. The thought doesn’t cross my mind. I’m just relieved that he doesn’t want to meet up earlier than what we agreed upon. “That’s fine, Kisame. I understand.”

 

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

 

I nod into the receiver. “It’s fine. The movie doesn’t start for another two hours anyways.”

 

“This might take longer than two hours to sort out, Itachi.” He explains.

 

“Oh. Okay.” I mumble.

 

“I’m really sorry, I wish I didn’t have to deal with this today but as the manager I can’t just ignore—”

 

“It’s okay. Do what you need to do Kisame. We can always watch a movie together some other time.”

 

“Yeah…” He says. “Hey what if we watched a later showing?”

 

My steadying heartrate spikes and my stomach somersaults. “We could do that…” I force out.

 

“I think there was a showing around four this afternoon, give me one second to check…yes! Four forty! Would you be okay watching a movie this afternoon instead of this morning?”

 

“I thought you had to be at the restaurant tonight?”

 

“Originally yes, but since they’ve pulled this _skata_ I might as well work this morning instead. So is four forty fine with you or not? Again I am really, really sorry about this Itachi, I really am. Please forgive me for the inconvenience.”

 

“Four forty is fine. And don’t worry about it. Family comes first.” I reason. If I were in Kisame’s shoes, I would do the same thing.

 

Kisame grunts slightly. I imagine he’s smiling. “Thanks for your understanding. I hate to say this, but I gotta go before I lose my chef!”

 

“Good luck.” I tell him and hang up the phone.

 

To think that I had to take medicine to settle my nerves for a showing at 10:55 only to have the wait be prolonged another six hours…

 

“Morning.” Sasuke greets me.

 

“Morning, Sasuke.” I say in return and place the phone face down on the table.

 

Without blinking an eye he walks straight past my pathetic display to grab a slice of leftover pizza from the fridge. I watch as he places it into the toaster oven and turns the dials to his desired setting, wondering all the while how long it will take him to notice the medicine bottle sitting on the table and empty medicine cup.

 

From there, he opens the cabinet containing the glassware and pours himself a cup of water, half of which he quickly downs in one fluid motion.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” He finally asks when he passes by the table with a full glass of water and his breakfast in hand.

 

“My stomach hurts, that’s all.”

 

Sasuke regards me with a blank expression for a moment before taking his leave. “I heard that something’s been going around lately.” He murmurs as he turns the corner to head upstairs. “Whatever it is, I don’t want it, you hear me?!” He shouts from over his shoulder.

 

“Duly noted.”

 

-8-8-8-

 

“Feeling better I assume?”

 

I force myself to coolly nod in response even though the question caused my heart to skip a beat. Kisame sent me a text promising to pick me up at four fifteen and it’s five after. He could arrive at any moment and Sasuke has chosen now of all times to make an appearance. “Yeah.”

 

“Good.” He mutters. “But don’t come near me; I don’t want to take any chances.”

 

I smile and steal a glance over my shoulder. Sasuke’s lingering by the front door with one hand positioned on the door knob, phone and car keys in the other as he composes a text message.

 

“Any plans tonight?” I ask, hoping to get a sense of where Sasuke’s going and how long I can expect him to be gone for.

 

“Yeah.” He responds without looking up from the text he’s rapidly composing. “This paper’s been kicking my ass all morning so I’m going to Naruto’s.”

 

“Just because Naruto teaches language arts now doesn’t mean he’ll help you write your grad school paper.”

 

“Tch. Like he’d know the first thing about subtle screening inventories. I can just picture the stupid look on his face when I tell him about it.” He smirks and pushes the door open.

 

I lean back in my chair to see if Kisame’s car is parked outside. It doesn’t appear to be and Sasuke hasn’t said anything to confirm it. “Guess I’ll see you later then.”

 

“Maybe.” With that he pushes the screen door open and takes his leave.

 

A little over thirty seconds go by until I hear the sound of a car door closing. Even though he’s inside his car, it’s likely that Sasuke won’t leave for another minute or so. If he was texting as he left, he’s probably finishing the conversation up in the car at this very moment.

 

I can only pray that he’s gone by the time Kisame arrives.

 

Fifteen minutes after Sasuke left the house, Kisame rings the doorbell. I rise to a stand to answer it and take a quick peek outside to confirm whether Sasuke has left or if he and Kisame are arguing about Kisame’s identity and purpose for being here on the front porch. Fortunately Sasuke’s car is nowhere to be seen and it is only Kisame standing on the porch.

 

“It’s nice to know you own at least one pair of denim, Itachi.” Kisame says by way of greeting.

 

Immediately my ears begin to burn. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I mumble. “You like nice too.”

 

He briefly glances down at his own attire – a tight fitting t-shirt that shows every contour of his muscular torso, a pair of dark denim jeans and running sneakers – and laughs. “Oh this? I just threw on the cleanest clothes I could find to be honest with you!”

 

 _I spent four days trying to decide what to wear while you only gave it a minute?_ I think to myself. Then again, Kisame’s probably been on hundreds of dates whereas I’ve only been on one if you can count the day he treated me to dinner at his restaurant. He doesn’t have to think twice about what to wear. And I’m a little bit ashamed to admit that he looks really good tonight.

 

Kisame turns to the side and offers me his elbow. “Shall we?”

 

I may not be too familiar with dating etiquette (if such a thing exists) but I’m pretty sure a gesture like this is reserved for young _er_ couples, people going dancing in a fancy ballroom or newlyweds.

 

My facial expression must accurately represent how I feel because Kisame retracts his arm as quickly as he offered it. “Just kidding!” He laughs with both arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen. “Ready to go? We won’t get to see the previews if we wait any longer.” He says as he wipes tears from the corners of his eyes.

 

While I am not so amused to the point where tears collect at the corners of my eyes, Kisame’s easy-going personality brings a small smile to my face. Maybe it’s the medicine I ingested earlier today or maybe I’m starting to relax around him. I can’t say for certain. “Sure.”

 

Kisame smiles and bypasses the driver’s side.

 

“Are we walking there?” I ask. The nearest movie theatre is located across town and takes approximately twenty minutes to get there. And there isn’t another theater that’s closer that I know of.

 

“Are you crazy? The theater’s across town! They’ll be closed by the time we get there!”

 

“Are we taking my car then?”

 

Kisame opens the passenger side door and presents it with an open palm and a throaty chuckle. “After you, sir.”

 

I immediately feel like a fool for not anticipating he would do this as he’s done it every time we’ve driven anywhere and force myself to offer him a pleasant smile in thanks. If I were a woman, I might blush or giggle in response. But I’m not a woman and I hope Kisame is aware of this fact. Surely my voice is deep enough to suggest otherwise.

 

“Your brother,” he states conversationally once we’ve backed out of the driveway, “does he live with you?”

 

I nod. “Yes. Why do you ask?” Did he pass Sasuke on his way to the house? Or in the driveway? No, he couldn’t have. He would’ve mentioned it sooner. Before we left the house.

 

“Because every time I’ve taken you home or picked you up he’s never there. I mean, I’ve never seen another car there before.”

 

And just like that my blood begins to circulate again. “He likes to spend time hanging out with friends, either at their place or somewhere downtown.” I explain.

 

“So he’s never home?”

 

The question momentarily catches me off guard. Is Kisame hoping to spend the night once we’ve returned to the movies? “Not necessarily.” I answer ambiguously. “If he’s not out with friends he’s pent up in his bedroom doing homework or watching TV.” Although I don’t know what Kisame is thinking, I do not feel guilty for what I’ve said because it’s the truth. There are weeks when Sasuke spends every night at home, weeks where we don’t see each other for days at a time, and there are times when one of us comes home as the other is leaving. “Why do you want to know?”

 

Kisame regards me from out of the corner of his eye and cracks a smile. “Don’t you remember? I told you that I was curious because I never see his car parked outside. He owns a car, doesn’t he?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

A deep chuckle escapes the back of Kisame’s throat. “You don’t strike me as the forgetful type…”

 

“It’s been a long week.” I tell him with a shake of the head. Although it may not be the reason why I’ve asked, it is not entirely untrue either.

 

“I can understand that.” He says.

 

The car pulls to a gentle stop when we’ve hit a red light. Kisame has grown silent and taps his fingers against the steering wheel as he waits for it to change. Now is as good of a time as ever to inquire about the events of this morning, I decide. “Did you settle everything at the restaurant this morning?”

 

Kisame tightens his grip when the light turns green and presses the gas a little harder than necessary. By the time the other cars have released their brakes, we’ve already crossed the intersection. “Yes, and it was a complete waste of my time! I hate it when they do this to me! Nobody knows how to communicate so when somebody says even the slightest wrong thing to hurt another’s feelings, an argument breaks out. If they would just talk to each other like _logikos anthropos_ , we would be better people! They don’t realize that I’m trying to run a business and I need for them to help me! That is what _oikogeneia_ is for but all they care about is arguing and starting fights! And every time, _kathe fora_ , _kathe fora_ it’s _“tilefono_ _Kisame!_ ” “

 

If I didn’t regret asking before, I definitely regret it now. The calm, easy-going man who opened the door for me not even ten minutes ago is speaking so fast that his English is starting to break down and some Greek words have made their way to the surface along with his usually concealed accent. And while I was able to understand _logikos anthropos_ (reasonable human being), _oikogeneia_ (family), _and tilefono_ (telephone), _kathe fora_ is lost on me and I fear that the more he talks, the less I’ll be able to understand.

 

“Kisame?” I interrupt and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about this right now. I didn’t know it was such a sensitive topic.”

 

Kisame says nothing and keeps his eyes level with the road. He’s breathing deeply through his nose which causes his shoulders to rise and fall. Only when I move my hand from Kisame’s shoulder do I notice how large the man’s triceps are. “How often do you go to the gym?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Either I’ve worded the question terribly and he doesn’t understand or he was caught off guard by the sudden change of topic. “You look like you work out. I was curious to know how often you go to the gym to maintain that muscle mass.”

 

If he didn’t understand what I was trying to say before, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was confused by my wording now. Muscle mass? Really?

 

Kisame’s eyes twinkle as a toothy smile spreads across his face. He removes his right hand from the steering wheel and flexes his muscles. “You like that?”

 

My cheeks turn bright red as if they’d just been pinched. “I-I…I…” I babble incoherently in a desperate attempt to buy enough time to formulate a real answer.

 

Although I might not be able to speak, Kisame doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

 

At this point my face is so hot it feels as though I might pass out. A perfect end to a date that has yet to even begin.

 

“Yeah” he continues casually, “I work out. I have some weights I lift at home when I’m filling out paper work and I like to go jogging in the early morning before the sun rises.”

 

I haven’t recovered from my less than eloquent explanation enough to speak yet so I offer him a nod of understanding instead, my gaze still directed at the floor mats.

 

“I would have more time to do things like that if I wasn’t being pulled into _oikogeneia drama_ every other day…but…that is not what is important right now. What’s important is that we get good seats in the theater.”

 

It seems that Kisame has attributed my silence as a response to his frustrations and is trying to display a more positive attitude. Truth be told, I didn’t mind that he was venting about his morning. It does not do well to repress any latent anger or frustration lest you take it out on the wrong person and say things you don’t mean. But I can admire his sense of self-awareness. It’s actually quite attractive to be honest.

 

The rest of the drive is spent discussing movies in general – genres we typically watch, what we like to eat when we go and where we prefer to sit. In the time it took to reach the theater itself I learned that Kisame typically prefers movies packed with action and superheroes, he intends to purchase a large bucket of popcorn and a large Cocoa-cola to down it with and although he enjoys Milk Duds he claims that a large bucket of popcorn is more than enough to keep him satisfied throughout the showing and if possible, he’d like to sit in the back row so that he can recline in the chair.

 

We arrive at the theater with ten minutes to spare before the film starts and the first thing I notice is that there are very few parking spaces available. “We’ll be okay. We still have time.” Kisame assures me as he circles the parking lot.

 

Second, every register at the concession stand has a line of _at least_ ten people. If you take the number of children out of the equation, it leaves three people waiting in line to buy a bucket of popcorn and drinks. I only wish that were the case as the family on the far end has five children, two of which are busy ogling at the slushy flavors and ignoring their parents’ questions, one’s wondering in the direction of a brightly colored cardboard cut-out nearby, and the oldest children are too busy scrolling through their twitter feeds to even glance at the array of candies on display.

 

At this rate, it’ll take ten minutes for just that one family to come to a consensus.

 

Kisame’s gentle touch on my shoulder brings me back to reality with a violent flinch. “Sorry.” He apologizes and presses a banknote into my palm. “Why don’t you pay for the tickets and I’ll buy the concessions?”

 

I’m too busy glancing in the direction of the family of five to register that Kisame has given me money to pay for the food and instinctively close my fingers around it. “I don’t even know what movie we’re watching so why don’t I pay for the concessions while you purchase the tickets.”

 

Kisame nods in agreement. “Good thinking.”

 

“Large popcorn and a large Coca-cola?” I ask in confirmation.

 

“You got it.” He says with a thumbs up. “We’re sharing a popcorn right?”

 

I stop dead in my tracks. “Come again?’

 

He appears confused. “I thought we could share the popcorn. Is that alright with you?”

 

 _I guess that’s what couples do on movie dates._ “Yeah, no, it’s not a problem.”

 

“Okay!” He says and darts off in the opposite direction to pay for our tickets.

 

It is only now that I notice the twenty dollar bill crumpled up in the palm of my hand and silently curse myself for accepting his money. He paid for dinner for the both of us last week; it’s only fair that I pay for the movie this week. _I’ll use my card and feign forgetfulness._ I decide.

 

And my plan would’ve worked had the line moved a bit faster. By the time it is my turn, Kisame has reappeared by my side and is standing a little closer than I’d like. I take a single step to the left and exhale to calm my racing nerves. Thankfully, Kisame hasn’t noticed. But with every step forward in line he closes the gap.

 

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” The young cashier chirps.

 

“I’ll take a large Coca-cola, and a large bucket of popcorn please.” Kisame replies.

 

“A large coke and a large bucket of popcorn?” She parrots back to us.

 

“That’s correct.” He says and turns to face me. “What would you like?”

 

Now that I’m close enough to properly examine the candy contained behind the glass display, I scan through my options one last time. “I’ll take a medium green tea and a bag of Swedish fish please.”

 

I watch as the cashier grabs a large bucket of freshly made popcorn from the cabinet behind her and positions it underneath a little black machine. “Butter?”

 

“Yes ma’am.” He replies.

 

“Yes.” I reply just a second after him.

 

I watch as she spins the bucket underneath the little nozzle and continue to stare at the little machine long after she has finished buttering the popcorn. I wonder how they cause the butter to squirt out in short bursts with their hands holding either side of the popcorn container. Is there a button they press? Or a sensor? Sasuke used to work at this very movie theater when he was a teenager. I’ll have to ask him next time I see him.

 

“Here you go.” The cashier says and hands Kisame his card.

 

I blink in confusion. When did Kisame offer her his card? What’s more, I was planning to pay with my own card!

 

“ _Skata!_ ” He swears which causes my body to stiffen in surprise. “I wanted to pay cash but I forgot…”

 

“I’ll return it to you when we find our seats.” I promise.

 

He shakes his head. “Keep the change.”

 

I open my mouth to argue with him but there’s no point. I have a feeling that he won’t accept it no matter how much I insist. If the night goes well I might be able to stuff it in his back pocket before we part.

 

“Excited?” Kisame asks when we stop to pick up some straws.

 

“Hm-hm,” I nod and take a sip of my drink to dispel my previous thought process. Stuff a twenty dollar bill into his back pocket? What was I thinking?! “By the way, you never told me what movie we’re watching.”

 

“You’ll see.” He promises.

 

I take that to mean that the movie is a surprise. I’ve never been very fond of surprises. I don’t dislike them; I simply like to know what to expect before it happens. But if the movie we’re seeing is a surprise, Kisame isn’t making much of an effort to hide it from me as I can clearly read the movie titles posted above each theater entrance.

 

“After you.” He says and gestures to theater four’s entrance.

 

I recognize the movie he’s chosen. It was released almost one week ago, as evidenced by the multitude of people already awaiting the start of the show.

 

“Wow, it’s packed!” Kisame states.

 

This doesn’t come as a surprise given the novelty of the movie he’s chosen and the time which we left my house. “Let’s get our seats before they’re taken.” I say and start to climb the stairs.

 

“Pick a pair that are as close to the back as possible.” He whispers behind me.

 

“Okay.”

 

-8-8-8-

 

Three quarters of the way through the movie it is clear to me that I’ve done something to upset Kisame. He no longer appears to be enthralled by the action taking place on the wide screen before us. Instead, he looks to be bored, staring blankly into space.

 

“Ready to go?” He asks when the credits start to roll. He doesn’t look at me when he says this. He just bends over in his seat to pick up the discarded popcorn container on the floor and rises stand.

 

“Yeah.” I mumble like a scolded puppy and rise up from my seat to follow him out of the theater.

 

“I’m going to get a refill. Do you want a refill?” He asks me from over his shoulder.

 

Although he is looking at me, his gaze is distant. “No thank you. I’m good.” I tell him. Exiting the theater to use the bathroom during the climax of the action was embarrassing enough. I think it’s safe to say that I’ve had my fill of tea for the time being.

 

“Okay. Be right back.” He grumbles.

 

Now I’m certain I’ve done something to upset him but I don’t know what it is. “Is everything okay?” I ask when we exit the theater and make our way back to Kisame’s car.

 

Kisame takes a sip of his drink and stares straight ahead. “I don’t understand you.”

 

It’s been confirmed: I’ve done something wrong. “What do you mean?”

 

He looks both ways before crossing the road and steps onto the pavement when it’s clear. “I thought…I thought that a date at the movie theater would be…not as stressful as a date at my restaurant.”

 

It sounds as though Kisame is speaking of himself but he’s already identified me as the subject of his consternation.

 

When I don’t respond, Kisame rephrases his statement. “Last week when I took you out to my restaurant you were hesitant. You seemed uncomfortable.”

 

There are a hundred things I can say to plead my case, the most prominent being _“I didn’t know that it was a date then.”_ If I could voice those thoughts but Kisame already knew that. Thus, there is no point in bringing it back up.

 

“But that was my fault,” Kisame continues, “for not making my intentions clear. I thought maybe a better, more ‘proper,’ first date could be at the movie theater. I thought you’d be more comfortable if we were in a public space watching a movie.”

 

I nod along to show that I am listening but fail to see how my hesitation has upset him so.

 

“I also thought it’d be nice to sit close together and share popcorn but you barely ate any.”

 

This is true. Every time I looked over, Kisame’s hand was nestled in the popcorn container. I was taught from a young age that it’s impolite to grab popcorn from a container when someone else’s hand was already inside of it and that I should wait my turn. Since Kisame seemed to be enjoying the popcorn so much I decided to stick with my Swedish Fish instead. That, and I lodged a piece of a popcorn kernel between my gums before the movie even started and picked at it throughout the rest of the showing. “It was too buttery for my liking.” I lie.

 

Kisame’s shoulders droop as he produces his car keys from his pocket. “And when I tried to get closer to you after I put the popcorn on the ground, you moved away.” He says and unlocks the car.

 

Murphy ’s Law states that “things will go wrong in any given situation if you give them a chance.” And it is evident that this date was doomed from the beginning because everything that could have gone wrong seems to have gone wrong. Not only does Kisame think I wasn’t enjoying myself, but that I wasn’t enjoying his company either, which is untrue. This date was the only think I could think about this week. I was excited to know that this man confirmed his interest in me and wanted to know where things would lead now that we were on the same page. But the fact remains that I’ve never been in a relationship with anyone before now. When Kisame leaned closer to me during the movie, I moved away to allow him more room on the arm rest because I had my own arm rest to lean against. It never crossed my mind that he was leaning over to be closer to me.

 

Before I have time to explain myself, Kisame is already moving on to the third offense of the evening “And maybe it was stupid of me to try to surprise you with an action movie. I mean, I don’t really know you that well so maybe I should’ve asked what you wanted to watch instead of trying to make it a surprise?”

 

I gently close the car door behind me. “The movie was good.”

 

“You got up in the middle of the last fight to use the bathroom!”

 

He’s right. I moved to use the bathroom during the climax of the movie because if I waited any longer I would’ve peed myself because I drank too much. And the reason I drank so much was because Kisame kept looking over at me. In an effort to hide the deepening blush adorning my cheeks, I would take a long sip of my drink until he looked away. For a while, it worked, until I my bladder threatened to explode in the middle of the movie. And as a result, Kisame thinks that I didn’t enjoy his movie selection.

 

I drank too much because I didn’t want you to see me blushing. I should tell him but it’s pointless now. If my using the bathroom in the middle of the fight scene was Kisame’s only concern maybe then I would explain myself. But I’ve already caused so much damage that Kisame’s mind is already set and nothing I say can undo it.

 

So instead of giving him an answer, I say nothing.

 

-8-8-8-

 

The moment I arrive home, I waste no time in slipping off my shoes at the doorway and stalk upstairs. I don’t care that my shoes aren’t neatly put back in the empty space on the shoe rack in the coat closet. Sasuke always kicks his shoes off when he arrives home so why can’t I? Besides, Sasuke isn’t even home. By the time he decides to come back it will be a new day and I will have put my shoes away. But for now, I just want to sleep. I just want to forget about my train wreck of a date and go back to the way things were before I met Kisame. Simple, uncomplicated, and detached from the outside world.

 

In the confines of my bedroom I spare a glance at my closet and then at my attire. At 6:30PM the evening has hardly begun. It would be absurd to change into my night clothes at a time like this. But what does it matter? I don’t plan to leave the house again tonight or even tomorrow. I could stay in my bed clothes for the duration of tomorrow and nobody would even notice since Sasuke will most likely spend the evening at Naruto’s place.

 

A wave of relief washes over me when I pull my long sleeve shirt up over my head and replace it with a clean t-shirt before shedding my jeans. I’ve never been the type to sleep in my boxers. For one, I’m always cold. And secondly, I’m much too self-conscious of my paper white legs to be parading around the house so scantily clad for the world to see through my windows. Pulling the bottom drawer of my dresser open, I pull out a clean pair of flannel pajama pants and quickly pull them up over my legs.

 

Fully clothed, I journey downstairs with my comforter bundled up in my arms and a thick novel tucked underneath my arm and head into the living room. The thought of curling up under the covers upstairs in my bedroom is no doubt tempting, but it is much too early for that. If I succumb to sleep at such an early hour I’ll be fully alert at 2AM tomorrow morning and fall into a routine every morning thereafter and I can’t afford to do that. Instead, I settle for curling up under the covers on the couch downstairs with a good book in hand.

 

Once I’m comfortably situated under my comforter with a single lamp turned on and my book in hand, all I can think about is Kisame. “ _I don’t understand_ ,” he asked on the way home, unable to withstand the silence that had settled between us, “ _what am I not seeing? Did I do something wrong?”_

_“No…”_ I told him. _You’re doing everything right._

 

_“Then…then why are you so afraid? Do you still think I’m a serial killer, Itachi? Do you think I’m some sort of mad man who’s going to hurt you?”_

As much as I wanted to accuse him for jumping to conclusions, I realized that his thinking was completely justified. _"How can I be sure that you're not a serial killer?"_ I had asked on the night we met.

Back then, Kisame had laughed about it. _"You think I'm a criminal?"_ He asked. _"I own a restaurant, why would you think that I am a criminal?"_

 

I had no idea that he still wondered if I felt that way. If my hesitation was a sign of distrust.

 

 _“No, Kisame. I haven’t thought that since the night we met.”_ Should I not have said that? Did I ever apologize? Should I have apologized?

 

_He sighs. “I keep trying to tell myself that you don’t think that but I’m also trying to convince myself that you feel for me the same way that I feel for you.”_

_“I...” I like you. I like you a lot._ Three words. Maybe even five. Or ten. Or twenty. Or four thousand. But three would have been enough. Whether I had used the word “like” or even “love,” those three words would have been enough. But all I could do was stutter one. Most three year olds don’t have a problem expressing how they feel for one of their peers, even if it’s superficial. So why is it that I, a twenty-seven year old, can’t reciprocate my feelings for someone who feels the same way? Even if it’s just three words.

 

“What the fuck?” Sasuke mutters and kicks one of my discarded shoes away from the door.

 

“You’re home.” I state as coolly as I can. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back until tomorrow.”

 

“Naruto’s tied up with new school year stuff so we hung out at this weird teacher supply store for a few hours before hitting up a few stores at the mall.” Sasuke says, closing the door behind him. “I brought you some Chinese food from the food court if you’re feeling up to it.”

 

“Thanks, Sasuke.” I murmur and stare blankly at the open book in my lap. It’s easy to judge a book by its cover art and title. Most people decide whether or not they will read a book based on the cover in a matter of seconds. The summary on the back offers but a glimpse of the book’s purpose or plot but doesn’t divulge how the story begins or ends. It’s impossible to read a book without opening it and starting on page one.

 

I can’t help but think if I’d allowed myself to open up to Kisame, he wouldn’t be so frustrated with me right now. But now it’s too late. He’s read the summary and isn’t satisfied.

 

“Itachi? Itachi?” Sasuke barks and snaps his fingers to get my attention.

 

My head snaps up so quickly that I pull a muscle in my neck and reach a hand up to massage it. “I’m sorry, what’s up?”

 

Sasuke ignores my question and places the back of his palm against my forehead. “You’re not running a fever but you’re scaring me.”

 

“I’m sorry what?” I ask.

 

“Did you go anywhere in the time I’ve been gone?”

 

I can answer this in one of two ways: I can lie and say that I’ve been home all day but then I would have to explain why my shoes are strewn in front of the door. Or I can tell Sasuke the truth. “I went to see a movie, yes.” I tell him truthfully as I am unsure what he’s trying to discern.

 

“Did you get into a car accident on the way to or from the movie theater?”

 

He thinks my lack of focus is due to a concussion sustained from blunt force trauma. That’s why he’s asking if I left the house while he was gone. “I’m fine, Sasuke. I didn’t get into a car accident.”

 

“Do you know your name?”

 

“Yes.” I answer but Sasuke is not convinced. With a begrudging sigh I tell him “My name is Itachi Uchiha, I’m twenty seven years old, I was born on June 9th, 1989, and today’s date is August 26th, 2016. Did I miss anything?”

 

Sasuke shakes his head and sits in the empty space beside me. “While I’m happy to know that you’re not suffering from an internal brain injury, I’m concerned about your behavior as of late.”

 

He sounds so much like our late father that it’s almost funny. “Sasuke, I’m fine.” I insist and close my book. If Sasuke decided to take a seat beside me, this conversation won’t be over so quickly.

 

“I don’t think you are.” Sasuke says. “You’ve been acting weird all week.”

 

_So he did notice._

 

“You were in a really good mood every day this week until Thursday.” He explains. “I was going to ask you about it this morning but you said you were sick so I left it at that. If that was the case you wouldn’t have left the house to go to the movies.” He says. “Even now you’d be upstairs sleeping or reading or whatever instead of sitting down here on the couch.” He says and lowers his voice. “So tell me the truth. What’s been going on with you lately, Itachi?”

 

While I’m surprised by how observant Sasuke has become, a much bigger, more pressing matter is weighing down on my shoulders. Do I tell him about Kisame or not? It doesn’t matter either way as I’ve likely severed any sort of relationship with the man – be it friendly or romantic in nature. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> As promised, the untranslated Greek words:  
> Theia = aunt  
> Skata = shit  
> Kathe fora = every time
> 
> Until next time,  
> Itachi's Husband


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I am so surprised that this story is one of my most popular on here...it's not so popular on the other Fanfiction site I post to but that's fine! Thank you all for the lovely comments! They drive me to push through the writer's block and continue! Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

“I’ve been seeing someone.”

 

Sasuke blinks. “Okay.”

 

Not the response I was expecting from him. With Sasuke, however, a simple “okay” does not mean the conversation is over. At least, he won’t let _this_ conversation be over that quickly. So I elaborate. “I’ve been seeing someone for a few weeks now; a man I met the night I picked you up from the bar.”

 

I steel a glance in his direction, hoping to read what he’s thinking or how he’s feeling so I can prepare what to say in return. The slight narrowing of his eyes tell me that he’s trying to determine the implications of this man I’ve met. Is it legal? Is it forced? Is it romantic? He’s trying to work through all of these questions inside his head. “I’m not really sure how it happened.” I stutter, searching for the right explanation. Something pertinent. “We’ve gone on two dates; once to his restaurant and to the movies tonight.”

 

“Okay.” He says and reclines against the arm of the couch. Now that he understands the nature of my relationship with this unnamed person, he can determine what he wants to say in response and how he wants to say it. But Sasuke knows that there is more to the story than what I’ve been letting on thus far and waits for me to finish.

 

I brace myself to open up and recount the events of my night but a sigh escapes my lips before any words do. “I think I might have ruined it.” I finally utter.

 

There is a second of silence. “How?”

 

I turn my head to look at him and he raises his brow in a gesture that says “go on.” No matter how pleading my expression, Sasuke will not let me sweep this under the rug as I’ve done with so many other things in life. So I begin to tell him about tonight, skipping the details of how Kisame and I met, how I thought he was a psychopath and how he’s brought me to his restaurant twice now. Instead, I tell him about the way the events of tonight transcended, starting with our conversation in the car about Kisame’s family that quickly turned cold before we even arrived at the theater, the popcorn kernel lodged in between my bicuspids ten minutes into the movie, all of the misunderstandings that occurred throughout the movie and the tense accusations on the car ride home.

 

Recounting the events of the night cause my heartbeat to slow to a dull thud and my stomach to twist. What’s more, I can feel the weight of Sasuke’s stare on me but I refuse to meet his eyes. Is he judging me? _What the actual fuck, Itachi?_ Is he at a loss for words? _I don’t…wow..I don’t know what to tell you…_ Does he want me to continue? Is he expecting me to say more?

 

“Okay then…” He sighs.

 

 _“If that’s what you want then so be it.”_ I can hear my father sighing in a tone similar to Sasuke’s just now. They’re not the same. They’re just similar. My father’s tone was disapproving but not restrictive. Sasuke’s tone is weary and slightly distracted. He’s trying to collect his thoughts. I can tell that much.

 

I don’t say anything to hurry him. In a few moments he’ll say what he wants to say and if I cut him off he’ll say what he wants to anyways. It’s been this way since he learned to talk.

 

“How important is this to you?”

 

He disapproves. I was wrong about his tone then. I don’t offer a verbal reply and listlessly shrug my shoulders instead.

 

 _“How the hell am I supposed to help you if you won’t cooperate with me?”_ I expect Sasuke to roar. I’m surprised when instead he asks me “If this man, Kisame’s name right?” I nod. Sometime during my retelling of the events of the evening I gave Sasuke his name. “If Kisame were to stop talking to you after today and get on with his life, would it bother you? Or wouldn’t you care?”

 

When it’s clear that Sasuke’s goal is not to mock me for my foolishness do I meet his eyes. They’re focused and analyzing me, studying my body language and eventually, my word choice and tone if I can find the right things to say to describe how I feel. I turn to stare at the coffee table in the middle of the room. “Of course it would bother me.” I say in a voice just barely above a whisper. “I think anyone would be bothered to know that they’ve hurt someone so badly, and by _accident_ , that the person in question breaks off all contact with them without giving them a second chance.”

 

“So you want him to give you another chance?”

 

The question catches me off guard and causes me to look up in surprise. The moment is fleeting because seconds later I am staring into blank space again. “It’s up to him.”

 

I can hear him take a deep breath and quickly release it. He’s not angry with me. But he’s becoming agitated by my responses. “And you’d be okay with that? You’re not going to talk to him about it?” With every question his voice rises. “You implied that you wanted a second chance but you’re not going to fight for it? You’re not going to even try?”

 

“Sasuke I—” I begin to say but realize I don’t have a suitable reply to his claim. He’s right. I’m just being a coward and he and I both know it.

 

“From what I’ve heard, it sounds like he was already having a bad day and you have little to no social skills outside of work.” He tells me. “He thought you were being distant, which you were because you don’t know how to act around people you aren’t familiar with, and you put space between the two of you. He noticed, got upset with you and let you know because he was already in a bad mood and didn’t feel like holding back. He questioned your good intentions which, coupled by your lack of people skills, made you more closed off which landed you in the situation you’re in.” He quickly inhales and exhales before continuing. “If you don’t care what happens one way or another, which is bullshit because you wouldn’t be drowning in self-pity like you are.” He gestures to the comforter draped around me in the book lying in my lap.

 

My thumb is still holding my place even though I haven’t read a word in over twenty minutes now.

 

He closes his eyes and shakes his head back in forth, trying to fathom how I could screw up something most people find to be so simple. When he opens them again he appears to be calmer. “If it’s important to you,” he speaks, his tone softer now, “you’ll reach out to him and talk this out.” He says. “And if it’s important to him, if this relationship is as important to him as it seems to be to you, he’ll forgive you.”

 

It seems so simple even though I know it won’t be. Talk to him, Sasuke suggests. That means scrounging up the nerve to pick up the phone and call him. Or would it be better to text him instead in case he doesn’t answer? Would I appear desperate if I left a voice mail? Isn’t it considered rude to apologize over the phone? Most certainly. But in order to arrange and outing, if he agrees to one, I’d have to contact him over the phone.

 

Or visit the restaurant in person. But what if he’s busy? Sasuke’s right. He wasn’t having the best morning. Perhaps showing up to his restaurant unannounced wouldn’t be such a good idea.

 

“You guys had a fight.” Sasuke continues. “It happens.” He says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He glances at the screen before pushing it back into the pocket of his dark jeans. “And when it does, give yourself and the other person time to cool off and work through it later.”

 

A promising idea.

 

“Talking to him now won’t do you any good. Sleep on it and tackle it tomorrow morning when you have a clear head.” He says and rises to his feet.

 

I’m not offended. Sasuke’s been increasingly busy now that he’s been admitted to grad school. If memory serves, he was working on a paper this morning and put it off to spend the afternoon with Naruto. Helping me sort out my problems has only delayed him. “Sasuke?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thank you for the advice.” I tell him. And I mean it. Although he may be younger than I am, he has far more experience dealing with people and their emotions than I do. “I’ll definitely take your words into consideration.”

 

“You better.” He smirks. “Next time I’ll charge you a dollar per minute.”

 

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips and the beginnings of a small chuckle bubble up in the back of my throat when a question I’ve been meaning to ask comes to mind. “Before you go upstairs,”

 

Sasuke halts, turns on his heel and regards me with an exasperated look.

 

I know what I want to ask. It’s at the tip of my tongue and has been at the front of my mind for weeks now. And for every second I stall, I can sense Sasuke’s patience draining. “It doesn’t bother you?”

 

“What doesn’t bother me?”

 

Say it. Just say it. Sasuke’s getting impatient. “It doesn’t bother you that…Kisame’s…”

 

“A man? No.” He finishes my sentence and answers my question in one breath. “What makes you happy makes me happy.” He answers my next question. “If you don’t need anything else I really need to get back to my paper.”

 

Most people would be put off by his attitude. But I know he means well. He’s tired and stressed and my love life is probably the last thing he wants to deal with and yet he’s dedicated almost half an hour of his time to help me work out my feelings regarding the events of the night. He knows that taking his advice is my best bet and he has no more advice to offer for the moment. He’s comfortable leaving me to resume working on his paper and I nod to show my satisfaction.

 

“You know where to find me if you need me.” He says with a short wave and slowly treads up the stairs to his bedroom.

 

He hasn’t made it all the way up the stairs before I can hear his quick footsteps descending the stair case and padding against the hard wood of the dining room. A minute later he’s jogging up the stairs again. The soft thud of his bedroom door tells me that he’s serious about studying for the night and that I probably won’t see him again until tomorrow.

 

Later in the evening when I retreat to my bedroom I think about what Sasuke said. About contacting Kisame. What if he’s still upset with me? Will he still be upset tomorrow? Is he still angry now? Several hours after we’ve parted ways? I eye my cell phone lying on the night stand. _“_ … _give yourself and the other person time to cool off and work through it later.”_ Perhaps Sasuke is right. Maybe I should let things be until tomorrow.

 

-8-8-8-

 

_“Tackle it tomorrow morning when you have a clear head.”_

It’s early the next morning and my head is anything but clear. How do I reach out to Kisame after what happened yesterday? What do I say? When in the morning is a good time to contact him? Do I call him? And if I do, what if he doesn’t answer? Do I leave a message? Do I text him? If so, what do I say? Should I make a trip to his restaurant and ask to speak with him in person? What if he’s not there? Then what?

 

These are all valid questions, in my mind, that Sasuke didn’t answer for me when we talked yesterday. Questions regarding a dilemma my parents never gave advised me how to handle. Perhaps they thought I would be okay and figure it out for myself. If I’d been in a relationship in middle school or high school maybe I would have. I was younger then. There was less at stake.

 

I remember a time when a classmate of mine, a girl, followed me around at recess and kept asking me questions about random things like why we only had founding fathers and not founding mothers and why I grew my hair out past my ears when every other boy in our class had shorter hair. She was a nice girl and meant no harm but I found her fascination with me annoying but I tolerated it because I didn’t know how to tell her otherwise. One day she followed me to the parent-pick up, a side road that looped to a side exit of the school and reached out to hold my hand. I immediately pulled mine away and firmly told her “quit it” and that I didn’t want to hold hands with her. There were tears in the corner of her eyes and she ran to her mother’s van when it came into view without meeting my gaze. After that, the following stopped as did the endless questioning.

 

I was okay with that only because I wasn’t in love with her. My situation now is different and more complex than a girl following me around.

 

I reach out for my phone and press the home button to illuminate the screen. It reads 8:47am. Like most people who don’t attend early church services, Kisame is probably still in bed. And if I remember correctly, his restaurant doesn’t open until eleven most days of the week.

 

I know Sasuke said I should wait until the morning to reach out to him but sitting around staring at my phone while I wait for my laundry to finish isn’t productive. My clothes have less than half an hour before I can move them to the dryer and once I do, I can perhaps drive to the store to buy groceries for the week, a task I’ve been putting off all weekend.

 

I resolve to do just and push my phone into the pocket of my jeans when it vibrates. I immediately pull it out of my pocket and glance at the notification on the lock screen.

 

_Kisame Hoshigaki:_

_I’m sorry about last night. I promise…_

 

My brain quickly registers the words “Kisame,” “Hoshigaki,” “sorry,” and “promise” when my fingers are already flying over the lock combination to reveal the rest of Kisame’s text.

 

“I’m sorry about last night.” I quietly read aloud. “I promise I was not mad at you for anything. I was not having a good day. I am very sorry and would like to know if you want to meet for breakfast before I go to work later. Again I am very sorry for the way I acted yesterday when I was with you.”

 

I breathe a contented sigh of relief though I feel that I owe him an apology as well. “Yes, I will meet you for breakfast.” I press the send button when another question comes to mind. “What did you have in mind?”

 

His response takes less than a second. _“The Akimichi Waffle House. Is that alright with you?”_

 

I’ve been there before. The nearest location is about a twenty minute drive which is fine by me. “Yes.” I respond back. “What time did you want to meet?” I ask, keeping in mind the amount of time I have left until my laundry is done. I know I could ask Sasuke to put it in the dryer for me but he probably wouldn’t remember until I returned home.

 

 _“I can be there 25 minutes.’’_ He texts. _“Half an hour at most.”_

 

My laundry should be done then. But the restaurant is much closer to Kisame than it is to me. It makes no sense for him to drive out here to pick me up when it would normally take him five minutes to arrive there himself. Not only that but he would have to drive all the way back to drop me off before he goes in for work and there’s no telling how long breakfast will take. _“I’ll meet you there.”_ I text and hover my thumb over the “send” button. There is more that I want to say but should I just say it in one long text or several smaller ones? _“I’ll meet you there.” My original text reads. After a brief moment of contemplation I add “I’m doing laundry right now and it won’t be done for another ten minutes or so.”_ Is that too blunt? I reread it once more and press send even though I’m not satisfied with the way it came out. I don’t want him to think I harbor any ill will towards him for the night before. He may not have been in the best of moods but I can’t pretend that some of my actions weren’t to blame.

 

 _“Okay. See you then.”_ He replies after a moment.

 

For a while I just stare at his last message. _“Okay. See you then.”_ He sounds annoyed. I know it’s foolish of me to read this much into letters on a screen but I don’t want there to be any more misunderstandings between us. At least, not for a while.

 

I won’t know if Kisame misunderstood my text until we are face to face. I tell myself that there’s no point in further analyzing it because I’ll only make things worse. With a sigh of resignation and fifteen minutes left until my laundry is finished, I tread upstairs to search for something to wear. I’m not sure if Sasuke is awake or not but I’m almost certain he would disapprove of the old t-shirt I threw on this morning when I thought I was going to spend the day doing chores around the house.

 

-8-8-8-

 

It’s when I pull into the parking lot that I see him. He’s leaning against his car with one hand pushed into his pocket while he uses his other to text someone on his phone.

 

I park two cars down and our eyes meet as I make my turn into the space. I offer him a pleasant smile and a short wave before crossing my hands over the wheel to execute the turn. Out of the corner of my eye I see him smile and walk towards the car. I should be relieved but I’m not. Kisame’s attire raises a new set of concerns, particularly regarding the way I’ve dressed.

 

“Hey.” He says by way of greeting. His smile is wide and comforting like the rays of sunlight illuminating the tips of his styled hair.

 

“Good morning.” I answer distractedly. He’s wearing a light blue button up shirt, khaki pants and dress shoes whereas I’ve arrived wearing the opposite: jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirt. “Did you come from church?”

 

His smile falters slightly. He glances downwards and smiles when he realizes why I’ve asked. “This is what I’m wearing to work later.” He laughs. “I went running this morning and got dressed for work after my shower.”

 

“When are you going in?” I ask and lead the way to the restaurant’s entrance.

 

“Originally eleven.” He sighs. “But I don’t want to rush this so if I go in later it’s not a big deal.”

 

The way he says “this” in reference to our outing makes it sound more like an appointment and neither of us want to attend but have no choice in the matter. “We have two hours.” I say. “We should be fine.”

 

He smiles so widely that crow’s feet accentuate the corners of his eyes. Evidence of smiling a lot over the years. As we approach the doorway he picks up the pace and pulls open the door for me.

 

“Thank you.” I make no move to beat him to it. Imagine the spectacle we’d make; two grown men rushing to open the door before the other. We’ve only been out a few times thus far and every time Kisame has beaten me to it so I’ve stopped trying altogether.

 

“About yesterday.” Kisame says when we’re comfortably seated and have placed an order for our food.

 

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” I interrupt, “I understand.” And I do. Kisame confirmed Sasuke’s suspicions in the text message he sent this morning. There’s no need for any further explanation. If anything I’m the one who should be apologizing to him for my own actions.

 

“Let me explain.” He insists.

 

“Alright.”

 

“Yesterday,” he begins, “I was frustrated. Not with you but with my family. When you work with family, it’s hard to make plans, you know?”

 

I nod in agreement even though I don’t have firsthand experience with the matter.

 

“I made plans with you a week in advance and of course their personal _drama_ had to put the business at risk and we had to reschedule. And I was frustrated by it all day but I didn’t want to ruin our date so I tried not to let it show but I failed.”

 

I know I should stop him. I should stop him from apologizing because his frustration wasn’t the reason our date didn’t go to plan. But I don’t know how to phrase what I need to say.

 

“I took my frustration out on you and that was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have snapped at you and I shouldn’t have said the things that I said.”

 

I smile at him and reach for the coffee pot that the waitress sat on our table earlier. “I want to apologize too.”

 

“That’s not necessary, Itachi.” He begins to say.

 

I shake my head. “I know you were frustrated with your family yesterday but you were frustrated with me as well and I wanted to offer an explanation.” He opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of the idea and closes it instead. “I’ve never been in a relationship like this before.” I start. I want to let my words speak for themselves but lack of communication is what put me in this situation in the first place so I keep talking. “I’ve never been in somewhere with someone and labeled it as a ‘date.’ I’ve never been with another person and referred to them as my girlfriend or boyfriend before either.” I decide to add even though I haven’t referred to Kisame as such yet.

 

With every word my face grows hotter and my throat becomes drier and I’m sure that it’s obvious to anyone who’s watching from a distance. I know Kisame’s noticed because although he’s trying to show that he’s listening by keeping a straight face he can’t keep the corners of his mouth from turning upwards in a small smile. Even his eyes twinkle with an emotion I can’t quiet describe. Lust? Attraction? Sympathy? Pity maybe?

 

While it seems as though my words are having a positive effect, I can’t stop talking. Not now. Not until I’ve solidified where I stand with him. Even if it makes me sick to my stomach after I’ve bared my soul to someone I’m still not very familiar with. “When we were at the movies I got a piece of popcorn stuck in between my teeth before the previews started.”

 

“Really?” He interjects with a small chuckle. “That’s why you weren’t eating any popcorn?”

 

I want to stop there but there’s so much more that I need to say to him. “Yeah.” I quickly utter. This is so much harder than I thought. “And when you moved closer to my seat during the movie I was trying to be courteous and let you use the arm rest. It didn’t occur to me that you’d want to get closer.” I admit. I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous in my life. Every second it becomes harder to make eye contact or even remember what I was planning to say next. If I continue I fear that my hands will start to shake which is probably less noticeable than my reddening skin. “I’m not used to being so…” I know the word. I know it but it feels like it’s lodged at the base of my throat and I can’t dislodge it quickly enough to form a coherent sentence. _I’m not used to being so_ intimate _with someone else._

 

 _“How important is this to you?”_ Sasuke’s voice echoes inside my head.

 

Out of the corner of my eye, Kisame shifts. My eyes quickly dart to follow his path when something rough brushes over the back of my fingers.

 

“It’s okay.” He assures me. One of his hands are loosely draped over one of my own. His eyes are bright and lack the frustration that was so evident in his narrowed gaze yesterday. His eyes are so wide in fact, that I notice how light they are. Until today I would have told you that they were brown. They are in fact brown, but they’re a lighter shade of brown that isn’t so common. “I understand.” Although he’s only saying a few words at a time, his body language and facial expression convey so much more. He doesn’t have to repeat himself. I need only look to his smile, a consistent reminder that everything will somehow turn out alright. “I apologized for my behavior yesterday. I’ll take responsibility for everything that happened.”

 

It would be so easy to let him think that way. To harbor everything himself. But I can’t let him do that. “I know but still—” A gentle squeezing of my fingers halts me mid-sentence.

 

“The things I was upset about yesterday. It was all an honest mistake.” He says. “I didn’t know you’ve never been in a relationship before but now I do.” He leans back in his chair now that I’ve stopped trying to argue with him but doesn’t let go of my fingers. Just in case.

 

I appreciate the gesture but it’s hard to concentrate on what he’s saying when we’re making physical contact like this. It may only be a little bit but my fingers burn where my skin meets his. It’s not painful but a subtle tingling that’s impossible to ignore.

 

“We can take things slowly if you want to. Just let me know.” His smile stretches to reveal a white set of upper teeth and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes are present again.

 

Down the aisle I spot our waitress approaching the table with a large tray of food. Kisame follows my line of sight and leans back further in his chair. Our shared contact breaks and does not escape my notice.

 

“I have a loaded omelet,” She announces.

 

“Mine.” Kisame replies with a slight nod in her direction and quietly thanks her when she sets it down before him.

 

“And a stack of cheesecake pancakes.”

 

She doesn’t have to ask whom the pancakes are for and sets them before me. “Thank you.”

 

“You must really enjoy sugary things, huh Itachi?”

 

I pause with my fork and knife poised to make the first cut in the stack of buttermilk pancakes topped with strawberries, a strawberry glaze and a whipped cream topping. I almost ordered something less extravagant for fear that Kisame would comment on sweet tooth but pushed the thought aside. If I want to pursue a relationship with someone why should I hide the things I enjoy just to appear more “normal” and avoid criticism?

 

“You enjoyed the slice of baklava I gave you the other week right?” He asks and cuts out a piece of his omelet.

 

Now that he’s not focusing all of his attention on me I find it easier to focus on my own actions and respond to his question. “I did.” Although we didn’t finish our earlier conversation I feel more at ease. I really did enjoy the baklava he sent home with me the night we dined at his restaurant and I knew my response would make him happy. And considering the misunderstandings between us lately it feels good to make Kisame happy. I can’t help but smile.

 

He’s looking at me and smiling too, omelet forgotten. “Well if you want more just give me a call and I’ll bring some over for you. Free of charge!”

 

“You deliver?” I ask knowing full well that it’s probably not a service that his restaurant offers unless they’re catering for an event. I’m just curious to know what he’ll say in response.

 

He’s in the middle of chewing when the question leaves my mouth and quickly swallows. “Only for you.”

 

I shouldn’t have asked. If my face wasn’t red before it’s red now and steadily growing worse. If I don’t change the topic of conversation soon my face will match the color of the strawberry glaze dribbling over the side of my pancake stack.

 

“I know it’s a done conversation but I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday too.” I quickly blurt out. It won’t return my face to its normal complexion but hopefully it’s halted it from growing any hotter. “I want to see where things go between us but I’m not…” I begin and realize that I don’t actually know where I’m going with this. _I’m not used to being in a relationship?_ I already said that though. _I want to take things slowly?_ I’m not totally convinced that’s the right thing to say either. _I’m not comfortable with being so close?_

 

“If you want to take things slowly,” Kisame murmurs as he’s still chewing. Once he has my full attention he takes the time to swallow and begin again. “Then we’ll take things slowly. I’m okay with that.”

 

I feel like I should add to that but my mind has gone blank. I can’t find any words to describe how I feel right now or what I want or where I want this…this thing…between us to go.

 

“Is that what you wanted to say?”

 

The slant of his smile and the inquisitive arch of his eyebrow speed up my heart rate. Any thought I had prior to that be damned. All I can think to do lean over the table and capture his lips in a slow kiss but I won’t. I’m not putting on a show before people I don’t know. “Yeah.”

 

Content with my short response, he regards me for a few seconds longer as if to look for any indication otherwise before continuing to eat his omelet. “Then we’ll take things more slowly.”

 

A “thank you” tugs at my lips but I worry if I open my mouth I’ll say things that will only embarrass me or cause a misunderstanding. I make a small noise of appreciation and position my knife and fork to cut through my stack of pancakes. “I’m sorry the tone of the conversation isn’t a happier one.” I tell him. He appears to be as surprised as I am. So much for keeping quiet.

 

“What do you mean?” He questions. “I’m glad we had this talk. It would have been a shame for things to end between us over something as small as missing the best part of the movie, don’t you think!”

 

I force a smile as he laughs at his own comment but I have not gotten over how foolish I was to have drank so much the night before. The bottomless coffee pot on the edge of the table is no doubt tempting but I do not want a redo of yesterday’s events. I’ve done well to drink it sparingly so far. “I’m sure that listening to me explain myself isn’t quiet what you had in mind for breakfast though.”

 

Kisame shakes his head with a wide smile. His comforting gaze tells me that if we weren’t in such a crowded place, separated by a table, that he would move so close that the heat of his breath tickles my lips. His easy-going smile shows me that he wants to reach out and clasp my hand in his and squeeze my fingers together. “Itachi.”

 

The hair on the back of my neck stands up on end. He’s both exasperated and amused by my naivety and I don’t know how to respond.

 

“I’m happy just to spend time with you.” He reaches across the table to take my left hand into his right and lightly holds my fingers. “I don’t care what we do so long as we’re not fighting. And this, this isn’t fighting. This is making amends and we’re good now, right? You and I are good?”

 

I nod. “Yes.”

 

“Then let’s just enjoy the short time we have together before I have to go to work, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

-8-8-8-

 

“Is everything okay?” I ask Kisame as we walk through the parking lot to our cars. His brow is furrowed and his mouth is a tight line. I know this look. I saw it on his face yesterday and I can’t think of anything I’ve done to upset him this time.

 

He turns to meet my eyes and the sour expression instantly fades. “Of course, of course!”

 

His eyes are brighter and he’s smiling again but I’m not entirely convinced. “Are you sure? You looked upset just now.”

 

“That’s because I am upset!” He laughs.

 

My heart beat slows.

 

“If I didn’t have to go to work today this date could last forever and that makes me upset!” He laughs again.

 

So that explains the forlorn atmosphere surrounding him. _If I didn’t have to go to work this date could last forever…_ The words replay inside my head and I can’t help but smile fondly at the thought. What would we do if he didn’t have to go so soon? Did he have anything in mind?

 

“You’re smiling.” Kisame observes.

 

If he were anyone else I would move to make my expression neutral but I don’t. “So are you.”

 

“I’m smiling because you’re smiling.”

 

My smile broadens. “I’m smiling because I can’t wait to see what’s in store for the next time we meet.” And I’m not lying. I’m genuinely curious.

 

“Where would you like to go?”

 

We stop walking and I realize that we’ve reached my car. Kisame’s car is parked two spaces down. “Anywhere is fine by me.” I answer. _As long as I’m there with you._ I resist the urge to add. This isn’t some formula romance story you pick up at the grocery store and I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough already. I don’t need to add to it.

 

Kisame is staring intently into my eyes. A wide grin stretches across his jaw. “Then I’ll let you know when I think of something.” He says. “Or if you think of somewhere you can give me a call. You have my number.”

 

“I will.” I answer. We’re standing awfully close to one another. When did that happen? Has anyone passing us by noticed?

 

“So…” Kisame begins to say. For the first time in minutes he pulls his eyes away from me and averts them to my car. “I know you said you wanted to take things more slowly but…”

 

My face heats up. But…what…?

 

“All I could think of throughout breakfast was kissing you.” He finishes.

 

My pulse resumes but my face still feels much too hot. And there’s nowhere to hide.

 

“And it um…” He chuckles nervously. “It would really give light to the rest of my day if you’d let me…”

 

His nervousness when broaching the subject makes me feel less nervous about the color of my complexion. I start to think of how to answer him but it’s as though my heart has taken over control of my motor function since my mind has stopped functioning altogether.

 

I lightly take hold of one of his firm triceps, something I’ve wanted to do for a long time now, take a step closer and bring my lips up to meet his. Our lips press together and I can taste the eggs from breakfast on his lips. He moves his right arm to pull me into an affectionate embrace and places a hand in the small of my back. I move my left arm closer to my body and let my hand come to rest on his shoulder, still holding his triceps in the other.

 

Not the most fluid kiss I’ve shared (not that I’ve shared many kisses with anyone in my life thus far) but it was not unpleasant.

 

What feels like minutes comes to an end in just seconds as we pull apart. Reality comes flooding back as I realize what we just did in the middle of a parking lot and my breath catches in the back of my throat.

 

“You taste like strawberry glaze.” He comments and licks his lips.

 

After witnessing that my face probably looks like strawberry glaze. “You taste like peppers…”

 

He chuckles a little. “Not sweet enough for you, huh?”

 

Oh how I want to retreat to the confines of my car to hide the mortification staining my cheeks right now. I have a feeling that the sweet tooth remarks will become commonplace in this relationship and wonder how long it will take me to get used to them.

 

“Mind if I go back for seconds?” He smirks.

 

My knees feel like jello and my abdomen feels tight. The only functions I think I’m capable of are keeping a pulse (which is racing) and breathing (barely). Regardless, I manage to pull close to him, if not to steady myself and bring our lips together once more. Who knew the taste of peppers could be so sweet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes chapter 5 of The Perfect Gentleman. I hope you all enjoyed it; I've been working tirelessly to crank out my quota of 5,000 words or so (you got an extra thousand this time around), and I wanted to make sure that the chapter was altogether perfect. There wasn't a whole lot of Greek this time nor was there any parental advice but there's hope for future chapters so be on the watch! I don't know when I'm going to get around to updating again because I don't have the details of their next date planned out yet and I have a busy summer ahead of me so fingers crossed!
> 
> Until next time,  
> Itachi's Husband

**Author's Note:**

> This story currently has four completed chapters (not including the prologue). I will upload the rest when I remember/have the time do to do so (I am fairly busy now that school has started back up).
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated (and in most cases, helps speed up the creative process which equals quicker updates!)
> 
> Until next time!  
> ~Itachi's Husband


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